Sullivans Island-Lowcountry 1 (15 page)

“That’s it, Susan. I’m telling.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Maggie, wash the starch outta y’all’s

underwear.”

“Y’all, cut the crap! We gotta get these crabs home before

they die and start stinking all to hell.”

“I wish you children wouldn’t cuss so! It’s vulgar!”

“Children? Excuse me?”

Muttering to ourselves about Maggie’s assumption that she

was the national arbiter of good taste and deportment, we gath-

ered up our towels, the basket of wiggling and twisting crabs

and the bucket of bait—a bunch of old chicken necks.We’d just

throw that old chicken neck out in the water on the end of a

piece of cord, and the stupid crabs jumped on like they had a

reservation on a luncheon cruise.We caught them by the bushel

all the time.

We were our own parade.We cast long shadows on the soft

wet sand, bulked up by the towels thrown over our shoulders.

Our footprints formed an irregular trail.An occasional sun wor-

shiper would glance up from her paperback novel and remark

on our passing to a friend in the beach chair next to her.

“There go the Hamilton kids again! Do you think they ever

eat anything but crabs in that house?”

“No lie. Pretty soon they’re gonna grow claws and start

walking sideways.”

People always had something to say about other people on

the Island. Even children like us were fair game.Timmy led the

way down the beach and over the dunes, his crab net held high

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like the spear of victory. Maggie and I, who for the moment had

made our peace, swung the basket between us. We reached the

Island Gamble in a few minutes.We dropped the basket of crabs

and threw our towels across the handrail of the front steps. As

we started up the stairs, we heard the booming Gullah of a

deep-voiced woman.

“Don’t you children be coming up ’eah bringing sand on

my porch! Go round to the back and wash your feet with the

hose!”

“Holy shit!” I whispered.“What was that?”We all froze.

The woman moved closer and we could see her then. She

towered over us from the porch. She looked like a bronze statue

from the Civil War. She was an enormous, stately woman, nearly

six feet tall. Her jaw was square but even from the shadows I

could see her eyes flashing. We braced ourselves for further

instructions.

“I mean what I say now, you children go on to the back!”

“Who are you?” Timmy asked politely, too stunned to

budge one inch.“I’m Timmy.”

“I see that. I’m Livvie Singleton and I’m here to help y’all’s

momma. Harriet Avinger’s cousin. What you got in that bas-

ket?” She opened the screen door and came down to the yard

for inspection.“You mussy be Maggie and Susan,” she remarked

as she passed us, our feet still cemented to the bottom step.“You

best be closing your jaw or you gone be catching flies,” she

added under her breath.

Maggie and I snapped out of our trance and hurried to find

our manners.

“I’m Maggie, Mrs. Singleton, the eldest child.”

“That’s fine!” Livvie took a long look at her.

“That makes me Susan, Mrs. Singleton, it’s nice to meet

you.” I extended my hand to Livvie, who looked at me for a

moment and then shook my hand soundly, smiling broadly. She

had the whitest teeth I’d ever seen and dimples on both cheeks.

“I love Harriet. She’s so nice.”

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“Yeah, she’s a good woman, all right,” Livvie said.

“Do you have a garden like hers?” I asked.

“Bigger,” she said with a grin.

“Your melons as sweet as hers?” I asked. It took her about

one split second to see where I was headed. She narrowed her

eyes at me and I maintained the innocence of a choirgirl.

“Miss Susan? You want some melon from my garden, child?”

“Oh, I love watermelon,” I said.

“Yeah, she can spit a seed clear across the street,” Timmy

said and started laughing.

“Shut up,Timmy,” I said.

“All right now, let’s see what you got ’eah.” Livvie peered in

the old bushel basket and, indeed, fifty to sixty hapless crus-

taceans were climbing over each other in their stupor for salt

water. As one would try to escape, his brother’s claw would pull

him back into the abyss. “Hope you got more loyalty to each

other than these devils do!”

“Yeah, isn’t it awful? If they had any brains, they’d get out!”

Timmy said.

“Well, they ain’t got none, so we may’s well cook ’em! Bring

them around to the back door and we give them a funeral!”

Livvie turned and climbed the stairs. “Yes, sir, Lawd, gone be

some good eating for this ’eah Hamilton family tonight! Gone

be a feast!”

The screen door closed without its familiar slam as she disap-

peared from our view. We made our way to the back steps, lug-

ging the heavy basket and dragging our towels across the ground.

Maggie threw her towel over the clothesline and said,

“Here, gimme y’all’s and I’ll hang them up.”

“Golly gee whiz, Miss Maggie, is it my birthday or what?” I

tossed her the towels and turned on the water, extending the

hose from its rack to rinse our feet.

“Don’t be such a wise guy, Susan,” Timmy said.

Maggie let the cool water run over her feet and legs while

Timmy and I sat on the back steps waiting to dry.

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93

Livvie’s voice rang out from the back porch.

“You children gone bring then crabs to me or do I have to

come get ’em?”

“We’re coming!” we answered together, exchanging looks

of exaggerated trepidation.

“This one’s not gonna be easy to train,” I said.

“Train, hell. Did you see her face?” Timmy said.

“Yeah, Mount Rushmore,” I said.“Come on, let’s get inside.”

As we crossed the threshold of our back door, evidence of a

new regime was everywhere.The empty sink sparkled, the floor

shone from a fresh coat of wax and we spied the plate of home-

made fudge like the ears of a good bird dog perk to flush out

dove.A crisp clean cloth covered the table laden for us with egg

salad sandwiches, cut tomatoes and cucumbers on lettuce, a

platter of sliced watermelon and a pitcher of sweetened tea. On

the front burner of the stove, our family’s largest pot was begin-

ning to simmer, waiting for the crabs. Livvie dropped a cut

lemon into the pot and turned to face us.

“I say to myself, Livvie? (My momma call me that ’cause she

say I is the livingest gal she ever did see—short for ’lizabeth.) So,

I says, Livvie? Them children mussy be ready to starve when they

get themselves home! So I make y’all something to eat. Bring

that basket over ’eah, boy. Soon’s this water set to boiling, we

have us a ceremony!” Livvie laughed and clapped her hands,

bending with glee as she surveyed the shock in our faces. “Y’all

like fudge?”

Mesmerized, we took a place at the table and devoured the

food, licking our fingers and happily coming to the realization

that life could be worse.

“Gosh, Mrs. Singleton, this is sooooo good! I never thought

egg salad could taste so good,” I said. It was delicious.

“Y’all call me Livvie, okay? Celery salt, a little bit of

chopped onion and mustard.That’s my secret. I’ll teach you how

to make it, iffin you behave! Y’all want some more tea?”

The ceiling fan spread peace over the room and the three of

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us filled our stomachs until we could no longer swallow another

bite. I sighed in satisfaction and also in relief. It was the first time

anyone had taken care of us like this that I could remember.

“Let’s us wash up these plates and send these boys to they

watery grave. ’Eah?”

Livvie turned on the faucet and squirted some liquid soap

into the sink, indicating to us to put our dishes in the sudsy

water. Without prodding, Maggie and I began to wash and dry

the dishes. Livvie found a pair of tongs and, one by one, she

dropped the crabs into the pot, apologizing to them.

“All right, Mr. Crab, I sorry I gots to do this to you, but

your life ain’t wasted. No, sir, you gone serve the Lawd by feed-

ing the Hamiltons.”

We began to snicker behind her back and, hearing us, she

spun around on her heels.

“What you laughing at? Get over ’eah, Mr.Timmy, you tell

this crab you sorry for him. And tell him thank you.”

“Ah, go on, Livvie.”

“Go on nothing! You come ’eah, right now! I know this

seems silly to you but you have to remember to say thank you.

It’s important. Don’t make fun of nature! Never do that! You

stir up Yemalla ire and then you ain’t got no crabs!”

She handed him the tongs and he took them very reluc-

tantly. Timmy reached for a crab and held him high in the air

over the pot before releasing him.

“Yemalla? What’s that?” I asked.

“Humph. Oh, Lawd!” Suddenly her face was filled with a

kind of despair.“Y’all children go to church every Sunday?”

“Are you kidding me?” Timmy said.“If we don’t make Mass,

we have to be in the hospital or in the grave!”

“That’s good,” Livvie said, “ ’cause everybody needs to

thank the Lawd for all He does for us. Ain’t that right?”

We all agreed, bobbing our heads like well-behaved morons,

while she began to tell us the first of the many stories we would

hear about the Gullah culture and the ways of her people.

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95

“My family come from Africa during the time of the plan-

tation, before the war with the Yankees. We had our own cus-

toms and what we believe and such. We come ’eah, and the

white people try to get us believing in what they believe. So we

learn about Jesus and learn to love the Lawd. But we always

remember the ways of our ancestors and elders and honor them

by telling the stories they brought across the water. Don’t hurt

nothing to pray to everything. Iffin everything got Gawd in

him, then you should pray to everything. Ain’t that right?”

“Can’t hurt,” I said.

“Tell us more, Livvie,” Maggie piped in. “Who or what is

this Yemalla?”

“She plenty powerful, that’s what.You see, we believe that

iffin Gawd give free will to man then He mussy give it to all He

create. So we give names to Mother Nature too! Yemalla is the

name of a goddess. She the power of the ocean and the moon,

control the tide, soothe the spirit with her song, light the way

for us. She give us fish to sustain us, like them crazy crabs fixing

to get in the pot.They is her little babies, so we thank them for

feeding us.”

“That is the weirdest thing I ever heard, Livvie,” Timmy

said, giggling.

“You think so, ’eah?” Livvie shot at him.

She was getting a little irked.Timmy should’ve known bet-

ter than to make fun of her religion, but he’s a jerk.

“I don’t think so,Timmy! Livvie, don’t listen to him, I think

it’s interesting!” I said, in a hurry trying to squash the fire before

it started to burn.

“Lemme tell you children something. Gawd, Lawd,Yemalla,

don’t make no never mind to me. All the same. Whatever you

believe in, that’s all right. I just think it’s a gift that you can drop

a hook in the river and pull out your dinner! Somebody ought

to be thanked!”

She stopped talking and looked at us like a bunch of sorry-ass

heathens. We were. Even though the powers in our life tried to

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beat Christianity into our thick heads, we resisted with vigor, rel-

egating religion to suffering for a few hours a week in church, and

cramming for religion tests in school. We talked a good enough

game about heaven, hell, purgatory and limbo, but privately

Timmy and I thought most of it was a load of garbage. Naturally,

Maggie bought the whole thing, but she was a world-class prude.

I just figured I’d do the best I could and see what happened when

I died. The way I saw it, God had a whole lot of butt to kick

before He got to mine, like Hitler and guys like that. Maybe He’d

be worn out.

But, even in my heathen state, I had to say that Livvie had a

point. Somebody should be thanked. Most importantly, I liked

the idea of a female god.

“Yemalla, huh?” I said.

“That’s right.Yemalla,” she said with dignity.

Timmy got up again and went to her side. “All right, Mr.

Crab, Livvie says I gotta do this. Sorry. I’m glad it’s your butt

getting blistered instead of mine!”

Well, we couldn’t help snickering, even Livvie joined in. But

I could see her thinking about what he had said about getting

whipped. Harriet had probably told her about Daddy’s temper.

Timmy, pleased with his wit, saluted to Livvie, bowed to us

and tossed another crab into the pot. “Sorry, buddy,” he said

with great drama, waving farewell to him.

Livvie just shook her head. “You children go on do some-

thing quiet now! I’ll finish this up.”

I turned to Livvie and held her gaze for a long while. “I’m

glad you’re here, Livvie,” I finally said. “Thanks for the sand-