The Dry Grass of August(24)

Mary put Leesum’s clean clothes in the dryer, then fixed supper: tuna salad sandwiches, potato chips, ice tea. None of us was crazy about tuna fish, but nobody complained. When it was ready, we all sat around the kitchen table, Leesum and Mary, too.

“How long were you with the carnival?” Stell asked.

“Leff school an went with ’em end of May.” He tightened the belt on the robe.

“Where-all did y’all go?” I asked.

“Knoxville, Chatt’nooga, ’Lanta, M’gomery. Other towns we hooked up with places same as Joyland.”

“How much money’d you make?”

“Fifteen dollars a week, my bed and food thrown in.”

“What kind of bed and food?” asked Mary.

“A pallet in one of the wagons. When it rained I slep’ on the sofa in Mr. McCurdy trailer. All the carny food I wanted.”

“Ham biscuits and Co-Colas,” said Mary. “That right?”

“Cotton candy,” said Stell.

“Weren’t so bad.” He sounded like he thought we were making fun of him. “Least it was regular.”

“Where Leesum live in Charlotte,” said Mary, “his mama isn’t working every day, money’s not coming in steady.”

“She do the best she can.”

I wondered again about the words ho and tea and coke. I asked Mary, “Didn’t you say Leesum could stay with reverend somebody?”

“Reverend Perkins and his wife. They take in folks who down on they luck.” Mary started clearing the table. “Jubie and Stell Ann, y’all get this kitchen straightened up. Puddin, go read something to Davie. Leesum, get your clothes out the dryer and come upstairs.”

We were putting the last plates in the cupboard when the front door opened.

“We’re home,” Mama called out. “Where’s everybody?”

“The kitchen,” I hollered.

Mama, Uncle Taylor, and Kay Macy Cooper came to the kitchen. Mama lit a cigarette and filled the coffeepot. Sarah walked through without saying a word and closed the back door behind her.

“Have a good time at Joyland?” Uncle Taylor asked.

“Yes, sir,” Stell and I answered at the same time.

Mama pursed her lips. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” we said.

“Nothing, my fanny. You two are into something.”

Mrs. Cooper said, “Paula, do you have radar?”

“They look like they robbed Fort Knox.” Mama put an ashtray on the table. “What is going on?”

I was about to speak when Mary came into the kitchen. “Good evening,” she said, just as cool as could be, like it was perfectly normal that a colored boy was in the attic.

“Mary,” said Mama, “what’s with Jubie and Stell Ann?”

“They has done nothing wrong. It’s all my doing and I can fix it, don’t need no help; just want to keep him here till we can get him a ticket home and—”

“Whoa,” said Uncle Taylor.

“Coffee?” asked Mama. She was planning to cope. No matter what Mary had to say, Mama would have a cup of coffee with her cigarette and she would be calm.





CHAPTER 10

Mary came to work the day after Mrs. Feaster said what she did, acting like everything was fine, but she and Mama were stiff around each other, saying only what had to be said for Mary to do her work. At first I wished they could get back to laughing and joking, but after a while I got used to their cool politeness.

Meemaw was coming to visit us in our house on Queens Road West, which she’d never seen. The night before her arrival, Mary worked late, starching the rec room curtains and rolling them to be ironed later. She hung the throw rugs over the clothesline and beat them with a broom, then went back up to the garage apartment with her cleaning supplies.

The next morning, the Electrolux cord lay coiled on the living room carpet like a snake, and the freshly ironed ivory sheers were laid out on the sofa. Tarnished flatware covered Mama’s heart-of-pine dining table. Grandmother Bentley’s silver service gleamed on the tea wagon in the morning light. The tang of silver polish hung in the air, mingling with the smell of pies baking. In the kitchen, Mary was kneading bread dough. “It’s half past nine. How come nobody rousted you earlier ?”

“I’m lucky. Where’s Mama?”

“Beauty parlor. Get yourself some cereal.” She nodded toward the pantry. “When you’re done, I need you to fetch stuff from the freezer.”

“You’re bossier than Mama this morning.”

“I reckon I am.” She sounded pleased.

I sucked in my stomach and inched between the bar and the ironing board, where Mama’s best tablecloth spilled onto a sheet spread to keep the white damask spotless. I fixed my cereal and sat at the bar. The percolator hiccupped on the stove.

“I want some coffee,” I said, just to see what Mary would do.

“Your growth need stunting.” She gave me a mug of half coffee, half milk.

I shook sugar into it. “When’d you last see Meemaw?”

“Year or so, when she stayed over to your aunt Rita’s.”

“Because she and Mama were fighting, right?”

“Where you hear that?”