Such Sweet Thunder (39 page)

“Allie Mae! That gal don’ know what time means! You just watch, she’ll come traipsin’ in here all out a breath: Aaaaaw, girl, you know, I just couldn’ git away! Momma this an’ momma that — an’ Doris the other!” Laughter followed this speech, accentuated by the immaculate sparkle of a solitary gold tooth.

“That’s the style,” he thought.

There was a knock at the door.

“Sssssh!” she whispered, “here she comes! Watch what I tell you!” She moved swiftly to the front room, paused in front of the door, and assumed a casual air, while he watched from the kitchen with a broad smile of anticipation upon his face.

Viola opened the door.

“Allie? Is that you!”

“Aw, girl, I just
couldn’
git
away!
Oh! — I’m winded!”

“Tee! hee! hee!” he shrieked from the kitchen door.

“Come on, girl!” said Viola laughingly, shooting a glance at him, “I thought you wasn’
never
comin’!”

“At the last minute Momma come draggin’ in half dead an’ I had to cook supper, a course. An’ then Doris! That gal’s gonna be the death a me yet!”

The two women advanced slowly through the middle room, gradually picking up the glow of the kitchen light, Viola taller and more imposing. Miss Allie Mae was real little and cute, just like a little girl! But she isn’t prettier than Mom … even if she is lighter.

A wave of uneasiness disturbed the smile upon his face as the two figures emerged from the depths of the middle room. They were right upon him, and suddenly Miss Allie Mae’s bright pretty smile had caused him to knock the saucepan off the drainboard: Boom!

“Oh!” Miss Allie Mae exclaimed, looking anxiously after the sound. “G-i-r-l!” turning to Viola, “I’m a nervous wreck! Hi, babe!”

“Hi.” He dropped his eyes.

“That Doris,” said Miss Allie Mae, “honey — come home with a face as long as Eighteenth Street!”

“What was the matter?” Viola asked, taking her hat and coat in the middle room, returning with Rutherford’s house shoes. “Here, put these on an’ take a load off your feet.”

“Thanks, girl. Oooooo-whee! Rutherford’s shoes are c-o-l-d! But they sure feel good!”

“What’s the beef with Doris, honey?”

“Yeah, girl — that little miss got to have a ballet dress! Kin you beat
that! Here I am, slavin’ like a dog, takin’ all this crap off the white folks
an’
these no-good men, tryin’ to feed ’er an’ keep ’er clean an’ decent — an’ she gotta have a ballet dress! Where-am-I-gonna-git-the-money? I asked ’er. An’ she started cryin’ the blues. Mary Ann an’ Cosima an’ them’s gittin’ ballet dresses an’ shoes an’ things! An’ then I told ’er: But you can’t have ever’thin’ just ’cause ever’body else’s gittin ’um.”

“Ain’ that the truth!”

“Your momma ain’ rich! I told ’er. Your daddy’s good lookin’ enough, but he ain’ givin’ you a cryin’ dime! I’m all by myself — an’ gotta help Momma, too! Mary Ann ain’ got no daddy, neither, she said. Smart as a little devil when she wants somethin’, girl! An’ that’s the truth, too!”

“Who’s Mary Ann?” Viola asked, placing a little powder box full of shiny black hairpins on the table.

“Ain’ I give you the low-down yet?”

“Naw, girl, what’s the low-down?” Viola arranged her straightening combs on the shelf of the stove. Then she started removing the pins from Miss Allie Mae’s hair. Meanwhile Amerigo waited for the low-down on Mary Ann.

“Clean that dishpan good, Amerigo,” said Viola, shoving the chair in front of the kitchen table. Miss Allie Mae sat down and wriggled her body into a comfortable position. Viola immediately set to work.

“Now — what’s the low-down, girl?”

“Aw! I almost forgot. Well — Mary Ann is my neighbor’s daughter. Big shots, child! ’Course, they ain’ rich or nothin’. Prob’ly ain’ got no more’n me. But they sa-ci-ety folks, honey. You know, always havin’ teas an’ piana recitals an’ things. Last year I think she was the president of the committee takin’ up funds for the N.A.A.C.P.”

“Unh-huh.”

“Well — anyway, girl, ’er name — it’s the momma I been talkin’ ’bout, now — ’er name is Agnes Martin. Divorced, girl! Three boys an’ a girl. Mary Ann’s the youngest. I think she must be ’bout Amerigo’s age. An’ strict! She don’ take no stuff off ’um little darkies. Watches Mary Ann like a hawk an’ makes the boys — big as they are! — walk the chalk line, I’m tellin’ you!”

“Where’s ’er ol’ man?”

“I don’ know. They been divorced a long time, it seems like. Ain’ that just like a man! — to walk off an leave a woman with four children! But he seems to take pretty good care of ’um, though. They got a nice house. It ain’ no castle in Spain! But the roof don’ leak, an’ it’s painted
nice, an’ it’s got a nice little yard in front with a lot a pretty flowers an’ bushes an’ ever’thin’. Anyway, like I was sayin’ — she makes ’um walk the chalk line, honey. All of ’um’s nice an’ mannerly an’ clean as a pin! One of ’um’s fixin’ to graduate from high school. Hear he’s goin’ to college to study bein’ a ’lectrical engineer — or somethin’ like that, girl. I don’ know how you say all that, but you know what I mean.”

“Naw!”

“Yeah, girl. High-class folks! Kinda stuck up, though, honey.”

“Yeah?”

“An’ when we moved out there, an’ Doris started at the new school, they started dancin’ classes. An’ you know Doris, she takes after her daddy, she just loves to dance! If she didn’ dance so much she could maybe git somethin’ in her head. I’m gonna have a time with her in a few years. Wild, honey —
already!
Got a boy-friend!”

“Ain’ that somethin’!”

“Yeah, girl! Well, anyway, she had to have ever’thin’ the rest of ’um had. An’ you
know
they took the cutest ones first an’ picked over the rest. A
course
, the white-lookin’ ones, an’ them that had good hair didn’ have no trouble. Doris’s hair might be a little nappy, but she ain’ black! An’ she’s got good legs, too! Took that after ’er momma. Besides, Mary Ann’s darker ’n Doris.”

“Color ain’ ever’thin’!” Viola said with a bitter smile. “An’ dancin’s dancin’ — whether you’re light or dark. As for legs, all you need is two! That’s all Clara Bow’s got.”

“You tellin’ me, girl! Well — anyway, they didn’t wanna take ’er in at first.”

“Ain’ that a shame!”

“An’ now they havin’ that recital that the Gammy Bamma saror’ty’s sponsorin’ an’ they so biggidy they can’t see straight! But I went up an’ told ’um: Doris kin dance as good as
any
of ’um — even better! Even if she
has
got nappy hair!”

“What did they say?”

“They couldn’ say nothin’. When she gits fixed up, I told ’um, she looks just as good as the rest of ’um. They let ’er in, too!”

“You did just right!” said Viola, sweeping the big white comb upward from the nape of Miss Allie Mae’s neck. “But who is this Cosima?”

“Ho! ho!” he laughed. “I ain’ never heard a no name like that!”

“Looks like you ain’ never heard a the sayin’ that children should be seen an’ not heard when grown-ups are talkin’, neither!”

“Aw, Mom.”

“She’s the daughter of J. J. Thornton. You know, the one with the photography shop on Eighteenth Street. Tall, thin, with real good hair. Looks like a whitie. The photography shop is on the second floor an’ the momma — she looks white, too —’s got a fun’ral parlor on the ground floor. Ain’t you seen that fun’ral parlor there with all them ferns an’ things in the windows?”

“Aw yeah! Now I know where you mean. Don’ never see nobody in there, though. Does she ever git any business?”

“I don’ know. I don’ think she does the embalmin’ herself. I think she gits G. G. Hopkins or A. J. Akers to do it for ’er. Anyway, Cosima’s ’er daughter.”

Cosima. He stared at the flowered pattern on the wallpaper that had turned yellow because of the gas heat. COSIMA. This time the word echoed within the warm volumes of familiar feeling and assumed animate form in his mind, along with the name of Grandma Sarah whom he could not remember. He tried to ferret her image from the faded flowers, but was distracted by the silent question: how can you see somebody that you’ve never seen? Like Grandpa Will and Grandma Sarah? — faces flooded his mind — and Old Lady and …

“You gittin’ through, there, boy?” Viola asked. He was staring at Miss Allie Mae with his mouth open. “You in a trance or somethin’?”

“Yes’m.” He finished drying the dishpan and started to hang it on the nail beside the sink.

“Just leave it
there
, boy! I told you I’m gonna use that dishpan in a minute!”

“Aw, I forgot.”

“She’s a cute little thing.…” Miss Allie Mae was saying.

“Who?” Viola asked.

“Cosima.”

“Aw yeah. I was so busy keepin’ a eye on this dreamer here, I almost forgot what we was talkin’ ’bout. She is, is she?”

“An’ smart as a whip to boot. Kin play the piana like nobody’s business —
already
, child! Read music better’n most grown-ups. Pretty brown hair, reachin’ down ’er back. Oh, she’s their little pride an’ joy!”

“Kin she dance, too?”

“I don’ know. I think she’s gonna play for ’um. Well, girl, you kin just imagine how
glad
I was to come home — after workin’ hard all day — an’ hear all
this
mess!”

“Unnnnnh-huh!”

Viola began to knead Miss Allie Mae’s scalp with her fingers.

Meanwhile he took a seat opposite them and watched Miss Allie Mae’s little bosom heave slightly as her head swayed under the persuasion of Viola’s fingers.

“What’s bal-lay?” he asked.

“Dancin’ on your toes like they do in the movies,” said Viola. “I could do it real good, if I wanted to. Don’t you remember, Allie, when I got them ballet shoes an’ started dancin’ like them white gals do in the movies?”

“Who you tellin’! You was a dancin’ fool! You oughtta seen your momma, baby —”

“He was too little,” said Viola cautiously.

“Aw, yeah … Yeah, that’s right.”

He pricked up his ears.

“I could go to the show,” said Viola, “see ’um doin’ it — once! honey — an’ then come home — an’ do it down to the bricks!”

“An’ she could, too, Amerigo!”

“I could do the splits standin’ up against the wall.”

“L-i-m-b-e-r!”

“Just as good as on the floor. An’ I mean layin’ my head against my thigh!”

“Rutherford made you stop, didn’ ’e?”

“Yeah, girl. He said it kept me too thin. I guess it did, at that. But it didn’t make no bit a difference to me, ’cause I loved dancin’ better ’n eatin’.”

“That sure ain’ no lie,” said Miss Allie Mae. “We usta go to the dance, Amerigo, an’-an’ Rutherford, he’d be wore out. But your momma, she’d be just as fresh as a daisy. Hey-hey!” She threw her head back with a hearty laugh, and glanced meaningfully up at Viola, who also burst into laughter.

“Sure is funny! Tee! hee!” he exclaimed. Viola gave him a silencing look, while Miss Allie Mae withdrew into the secret recesses of an indulgent smile.

A jet of steam issued from the spout of the teakettle:

“We gonna be the last ones to move away from down here.…”
he heard Viola saying, and was amazed that her lips were still as she draped a big white dish towel around Miss Allie Mae’s shoulders and fastened it with one of the safety pins she had stuck into the shoulder of her apron.

Aunt Lily’s moving up on Campbell, he thought. An unexpected
sadness stole upon him as he traced the way from the alley to Eighth and Campbell Streets along the seam of the embroidered tablecloth.

“Looks like ever’body’s movin’ out a the alley all at once!” said Miss Allie Mae, bending over the sink. “I swear, I don’t see how you an’ Rutherford kin stand it. Ouch!”

“Aw — is it too hot, honey?” Viola exclaimed, shooting a quick laughing glance over her shoulder at him, releasing next a forceful stream of cold water from the spigot.

“Ooooooow!” cried Miss Allie Mae, while Viola innocently mixed the waters with the tips of her fingers.

“There now, is that better?”

“Aaaaah!”

“Yeah,” said Viola. “A lot of ’um’s movin’, but we sure ain’ in no hurry! Ever’body an’ his brother’s on relief, payin’ ever’thin’ out for rent — an’ ain’ even got enough to eat. An’ we ain’ never been on nobody’s relief! But it ain’ none a Rutherford’s fault. Honey, if I didn’ do hair, an’ sew, an’ work every day, girl, I don’ know
what
we’d do! Dependin’ on ol’ man Mac! He just loves ol’ man Mac! An’ ol’ man Mac don’ do
nothin’
but work ’im like a dog an’ make fine speeches. Eatin’ at the table with the white folks! What’s that if they ain’ puttin’ no money in your pocket!”

“Is he still fallin’ for that same old three-six-nine, honey! Rutherford oughtta quit when things git better — if they ever gonna git better. You know them folks across the water’s talkin’ about w-a-r! An’ the smoke from the last one ain’ even cleared away yet! But like I was sayin’, as good lookin’ as he is — an’ smart to boot! — why he could go places, gurl, with a little luck!”

“He’s a good man, all right,” said Viola. “He’s steady, he’s good to his family, an’ he brings his pay home every week! That is when ol’ man Mac pays ’im. That’s more’n you kin say for most of ’um. An’ what he don’ know ain’ worth knowin’! He kin figure ever’thin’ out, if he put his mind to it. Reads all the time. An’ it ain’ nothin —
nothin’
— you kin ask ’im about what’s happenin’ in the world that he don’ know at least
somethin’
about it. But he ain’ got no — no git-up-an’-go! You know what I mean? As long as there’s enough to eat in the house an’ ain’ nobody sick or nothin’, he’s
satisfied!
If I didn’ go out an’ buy a rug or a stick a furniture once an’ a while, you think he’d buy it? I have to tell ’im to git a haircut, to buy a pair a shoes or a new suit. He don’ even know what size shirt he wears!”

“We was poor, Amerigo,
” he heard his father say, his voice trembling
within the aura of a sad sound that swelled in his throat.
“I kin remember when we usta have to git in bed in the daytime just to keep warm. Waitin’ for Momma to come home with somethin’ to eat. An’ when she did come home, late in the evenin’, she’d be e-v-i-l! An’ as long as there was somethin’ to eat an’ a fire in the winter ever’thin’ was all right. Momma was quiet an’ peaceful-like, an’ we usta have a lot a fun.”