Mary Mae and the Gospel Truth (7 page)

Daddy still don't know what she's talking about, but he chimes in, "Should have listened to your mama."

"I got no choice, Farley."

Daddy's raising his eyebrows, like as if to ask what.

"Got to teach her at home," says Mama.

"Is that allowed?" says Daddy.

"You bet it is," she says. "I been reading about it in
Christian Testament.
"

"But how are you going to do that and work?"

"We'll just get up early," says Mama. "I'll give Mary Mae her assignments, and Granny can make sure she does them. You don't mind, do you, Granny?"

"I'm here all day," says Granny. "Though I ain't going to be here forever."

"We'll worry about that when the time comes," says Mama.

"You got to know what you're doing," Daddy says to Mama.

"Farley, I can teach," says Mama. "You just make assignments. Besides," she says, going to the sink for water, "I been to college."

Mama's got a business certificate.

"We get Mary Mae on the right track," says Mama, "we can let her go to public high school."

"High school! I'll run away before I have to wait for high school," I say.

Mama slaps my face. "I don't care what you want. We're going down to school tomorrow, picking up your things, then coming back home." Mama sets back down.

"I ain't eating dinner," I say, and I go upstairs. I go into my room and set on my bed. Then I see Mrs. Noah, perched on that pop bottle on my dressing table. Now, I love Mrs. Noah—especially since I done her face myself—but I hate Mama right now more than I love Mrs. Noah, so I grab her by the hair and take her downstairs. Mama, Daddy, and Granny's still setting in the kitchen. I walk past, waving that puppet, go out the back door to the garbage can. I throw Mrs. Noah on top of my cigar box. Then I come back in. "I ain't a-playing Mrs. Noah, neither," I say.

"Yes you are, young lady," says Mama. "You go out and take that puppet out of the trash!"

"No, just leave it there," says Daddy. "She'll have no privileges for a month."

"I ain't got no privileges now," I say, and stomp back upstairs.

"I want her in that puppet play," I hear Mama saying.

"Then you better save that puppet," says Daddy.

"Well, Farley, you're closer to the door."

I'm pleased to hear them arguing over Mrs. Noah. I plop down by the register. I can hear Mama on the phone telling Mr. Harbin she'll be late tomorrow. And then she calls Sister Coates. "Sister Coates is a-praying for us," she says.

Daddy calls me for dinner.

"I ain't coming down," I say.

"You're coming down here," says Mama, yelling up the stairs.

"You're coming down right now," says Daddy.

So I come down, but I don't eat nothing. Just push my food around.

"Eat!" says Mama. Then she shakes her head. "What did I do to deserve this?"

I clear the table, then go back up to my room.

***

I hear Granny when she comes up to her room, and I go stand in her doorway. "It ain't fair, Granny," I tell her.

"No, it ain't," she says. "What you gonna do about it?"

"I'm running away," I say.

"Where to?"

"Zimbabwe."

"What would you do there?" says Granny.

"I don't know. Pick fruit."

"Well I'd think twice about that."

"You ain't no help," I say.

I go to my room, climb into bed with my clothes on. I ain't never going to sleep.

***

But I wake up at midnight. House is quiet. I creep downstairs, open up the back door, and walk out to the trash. With the moon, it's light enough to see. I lift up a garbage bag, and there's my cigar box. Mrs. Noah's missing. I feel around in some potato peels, find two fossils that fell out, and put them back in the box. I take it out, put the garbage back in, put the lid back on.

Then I look up at the stars. Miss Sizemore says each one of them stars is the center of a universe just like ours. It makes my head swoosh just thinking about it and how compared to the world, I'm no bigger than a dust mite. Except unless God thinks I'm important. I hope he thinks I'm important. Lord help me, I say. I want to stay in Miss Sizemore's class. She's the best teacher I've ever had.

I don't feel like brushing my teeth or washing my face, so I don't. And I have on what I slept in, but Mama don't even notice. She plaits my hair, yanking it hard. We get into the car. I don't think I should have to go to school if I can't stay there. Mama could turn my books in for me and pick up my school supplies.

She puts on her best slacks, the ones with the cuffs, and we drive down to school. She parks out in front of the new addition, and we walk up to Mr. Trimble's office. He's the principal.

Mama stiffens up the minute she walks into his office. It's filled with sculptures he's built out of Popsicle sticks—a castle, a Ferris wheel, a fort, and dangling over the copy machine, something that looks like a space station.

"Good morning, Mary Mae," he says. "And Mrs. Krebs?"

Him and Mama shake hands.

"What can I do for you?"

Mama clears her throat. "Mary Mae ain't a-going to school no more."

"Oh?" Mr. Trimble straightens his glasses. "Are you moving?"

"No, we ain't a-moving," says Mama. "I'm teaching Mary Mae at home."

"I see." Mr. Trimble looks sort of mixed up. "Why don't you have a seat?" Me and Mama set down on folding chairs, and Mr. Trimble calls Miss Sizemore up on the intercom. "Please come down," he says. "We have Mary Mae and her mother here."

He arranges some papers on his desk, pins an announcement to his bulletin board, then takes a note from a first-grader.

He sets down, and in comes Miss Sizemore.

"Morning, Mary Mae," she says. "And you must be Mrs. Krebs." She puts out her hand and Mama shakes it, though I know she don't want to. Miss Sizemore pulls up a chair.

"Mrs. Krebs says she's taking Mary Mae out of school," Mr. Trimble tells Miss Sizemore. "She wants to teach her at home." Then he says to Mama, "Can you tell us why?"

Mama tells them about the fossils and the paper I oughtn't to have written. "We don't believe in trilobites," she says, showing him my interview.

I'm a-staring off at the ceiling, my hands going hot and cold at the same time.

"We believe the world is six thousand years old," says Mama, "and as a Christian person, I can't have Mary Mae learning otherwise."

"I'm sorry," says Miss Sizemore. "I try to present the latest research, and I like the children to discover things themselves. I would love to keep Mary Mae in class—she's an inspiration. Why don't I modify her assignments?"

"No, I already told Mary Mae to ask for different assignments, and she didn't. I think you provide too much temptation. So I got to take Mary Mae out of school to make sure she learns the right things. I got to keep my own conscience clear."

"Mama, I want to stay in school," I say.

But Mama won't hear of it. "Mary Mae, give Miss Sizemore your books."

"She's welcome to keep her books," says Mr. Trimble. "She can have them on loan."

"No," says Mama, "I don't trust them books."

So I'm busy digging through my backpack, pulling out my books and putting them on Mr. Trimble's desk. I'm so embarrassed, tears are coming up in my eyes. And now a hot flood spills out over my cheeks.

Mr. Trimble and Miss Sizemore just set quiet, and then all of a sudden Mr. Trimble says to Mama, "Do you have a copy of your curriculum?"

"Curriculum?" says Mama.

"Your course of study," says Mr. Trimble. "We'll all be in trouble unless I have your curriculum. The school board will require it."

"Oh yes, what I'm teaching," says Mama. "Well as far as I'm concerned, the Bible's the only book she'll need!"

"Children need to be well rounded," says Miss Sizemore. "They need history and science. And art—art is important."

"Mary Mae gets her art at Sunday school," says Mama. "As for history and science—they's right in the Bible."

"But we need to know your curriculum," says Mr. Trimble. "What you're studying in the Bible. What lessons you're teaching."

Mama's pinned down here and don't know which way to go. "Hmmmph," she says. "Well, I can bring it in next Monday."

"Monday will be fine," says Mr. Trimble.

You can tell Mama didn't know she'd be asked for that. She picks up her pocketbook. "Miss Sizemore, if it's all right, Mary Mae will go up and clear out her desk."

I walk up to the classroom with Miss Sizemore.

"I'm sorry," says Miss Sizemore. "I wish I'd known. You know, I could have given you different assignments, the way I do Shirley Whirly."

"Nope," I say. "I like science. I want what everybody else gets." Then I get a lump so big in my throat I can't even talk. I stop in the hall outside my class and wipe my face. Don't want nobody in the class to know I been crying.

Then I go in and fill my backpack up with school supplies.

"What's going on?" says Herschel, soon as I'm pulling my things out of my desk.

"Mama's taking me out of school," I say. I don't tell him no more. He can figure it out.

"Wish my mama'd take
me
out of school," says Shirley Whirly.

***

I go out to my locker, get my gym clothes and art supplies, then go back downstairs.

Mama's standing outside Mr. Trimble's office.

"I swear, that principal," says Mama, walking into the house. Granny's setting at the kitchen table. "I don't know how he runs that school—got a whole office full of Tinkertoys."

"Them ain't Tinkertoys," I say. "Them's Popsicle sticks, and he builds things for a hobby."

"Hobbies don't belong in school," says Mama. She starts going through drawers to find school supplies—pencils, scrap paper, pens from Harbin Plumbing.

"Let's see what you have in that school bag," she says.

I pour everything out, including a compass and a protracter.

"We'll just work here at the kitchen table," says Mama. "Don't need no fancy desk. Get your Bible."

I go up to my room and bring it down.

She sets down and starts thumbing through hers.

"All right, Mary Mae, I want you to read Matthew 13, all them parables. And after that"—she's looking through her Bible again—"you can study for a spelling test. Thirteen books of the Bible. First column. I'll give you a test as soon as I come home."

Mama puts her coat back on. "Granny, you and Mary Mae can have them cold cuts for lunch. And Mary Mae"—she comes over, puts her hand on my shoulder—"you're my own precious daughter, and I'm doing this for your own good."

She kisses my forehead.

I wipe it off.

Mama runs out the door.

***

I just set at the table for a time, don't even speak to Granny. And Granny putters around like everything's normal. I got a good mind not to do nothing—not to read, not to learn my spelling. What's Mama going to do, take me to the principal?

Granny sets down and opens up her Bible. I see she's looking at Matthew 13. "I like parables," she says. "They's all nice little stories."

"I don't care," I say. "I ain't reading 'em."

"Might as well read until you figure out what to do."

"Ain't nothing I
can
do." I start to cry.

"You'll figure something out," says Granny. "You got a curiosity like I do, got to learn everything you can. Meantimes, I'd keep your mama happy by reading them parables."

I draw circles with my compass. Then I draw circles inside circles. Then circles that go right off the page. Finally I get my Bible and start looking at them parables. I read real slow. "Granny," I say, "I got questions."

"Shows you're thinking," says Granny. "Write them down and save them for your mama."

So I write them down.

Verses I Got Questions About

1—What seaside was Jesus setting at?

7—How can thorns choke seeds?

12—Why does the Lord say that for him that has more, he'll get more, and for him that don't have much, he'll get even less. That don't seem fair.

15—What does "waxed gross" mean?

21—Why does Matthew always call them people "the multitude"?

47—How is the kingdom of Heaven Like a net?

56—Who was Jesus' sisters?

Then I study my spelling words. Only hard one's Deuteronomy. And I really only got eleven names to learn, since there's Samuel I and II and Kings I and II.

I've done finished with everything by noon. Granny and I have our cold cuts, me eating half the package.

Granny wants to know do I want to do some singing. "No," I say. Singing might cheer me up.

So I just read my Bible, then go looking for Mrs. Noah. She ain't nowhere in the kitchen, and she ain't in none of Mama's drawers.

***

Mama comes home from work. "How'd everything go?" she says.

I hand her my list. "I got some questions," I say.

"Right now I want you to help me carry some things in. They had a set of encyclopedias down at the shop, and Mr. Harbin said we could have them."

I bring them in, put them on the dining-room table. It's the Finley & Watson
Whole World Encyclopedia
in twenty volumes. They smell like rags. First thing I do is look up
trilobite.
They got it, but it's only one paragraph. And there ain't no pictures.

***

Then Wanda Brierly from church stops off at six o'clock with a fifth grade math book. "I used this with my son when he broke his leg," she says. "Course, that was a long time ago."

The kid on the cover's playing with a Hula Hoop.

I hear Wanda say to Mama, "Well, it's better she be here than back at school digging up them fossils."

Soon as she's gone, I read one of the story problems out loud.

"Virginia is having a birthday party. She has fifteen guests and would like to buy everyone a nickel candy bar. In addition, she would like to have paper hats that cost eight cents a piece and a cake that costs $2.95. Nut cups are four cents a piece, and a large jar of nuts is ninety-nine cents. How much money will Virginia need?