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Authors: Anna Jean Mayhew

BOOK: The Dry Grass of August
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The man's face twisted. I tried to pull Mary back, but she didn't need my help. The man stomped his foot and turned to Leesum. “You're fired, boy. Weren't that good anyway. Get the hell out of here 'fore I throw your pecker to the wild dog.” He snatched the top hat off Leesum's head. Snaky ropes of hair sprang out in all directions. “Gimme back my costume.”
Leesum took off his yellow coat. “Can't take off the pants, Mr. McCurdy, ain't got nothin on under 'em.”
“Get your clothes, then. And don't let me catch you 'round here again.”
The boy ran toward a metal trailer that looked like a tin can on wheels, his pigtails bouncing. Mary hollered after him, “We'll wait right here, Leesum.”
Stell Ann walked up with the kids. “What's going on?”
Mary shook her head. “That boy, he been in trouble for a year. He only fifteen and he ran off from home last spring. His mama been beside herself. They in my church.”
“What boy?” Stell Ann asked.
“The boy pulling the curtain in the freak show,” I said.
“Where is he?”
“Putting on his clothes.”
“He didn't have any clothes on?”
“He was fired. Had to take his costume off.”
Leesum walked up, carrying a paper bag and wearing a filthy shirt and shorts, his bare feet dusty.
Stell stared at his hair.
“What you plan now, Leesum?” asked Mary.
“Get me 'nother job.”
“And how you gone do that?”
“Go into town.”
“Wouldn't you rather go home?”
“Ain't got money for a ticket, and Mama'd whup me till I couldn't walk.”
“What if I bought you a bus ticket, and what if you stayed with Reverend Perkins for a while?”
Leesum looked at the ground.
“Be easier to get a job in Charlotte, where your church family is, than in Florida, don't you reckon?”
“Yes'm.”
“Then come on out to Commander Bentley's. I'll see what we can do.”
“Mama is going to have a duck,” Stell said.
“Leave your mama to me.”
As we left Joyland, we passed an open tent where a clown was sitting in front of a mirror, rubbing his makeup off. He saw me in the mirror and waved. It was the clown who gave me the rose. Under the makeup, his skin was darker than Leesum's.
We'd planned to stay at Joyland for supper, but Stell said we were leaving. “Mama's going to be mad enough when she sees that boy. If anybody who knows Uncle Taylor saw him having hot dogs with us . . .” She walked toward the parking lot. “I'll pick you up at the front gate.”
Mary and Leesum got in the back with me. Puddin climbed into the front seat with Stell and helped put Davie in his canvas seat. We hadn't gone more than a couple of miles before I regretted my decision to sit so close to Leesum. He smelled like a wet dog. Mary cranked her window all the way down. I did the same thing.
“You gone get a bath, boy, soon's we get to Commander Bentley's,” said Mary.
“Yes'm.”
“Too bad there's no colored beach out where we staying. I'd dip you in the ocean first. Wash off the top layer of dirt.”
“Yes'm.” He looked at me, ashamed. I wanted Mary to be easier on him.
“Hmph.” Mary grabbed at his hair. “A nappy-head boy with bobo tails.”
“Mr. McCurdy wouldn't let me cut 'em.”
“How come?”
“At the end of the show I takes a bow and lifts my hat. My tails pops out. Folks laugh.” He stared out the window.
Mary touched his hand. “I can cut your hair nice, Leesum. Always did it for Mr. Luther and Link.”
On the way home I kept thinking about the boy at the Enchanted Castle Boat Ride, pinching off pieces of blue cotton candy and putting them in his girl's mouth, her red lips closing on his fingertips.
At Uncle Taylor's, I put the limp rose in a glass of water and set it on the dinner table, hoping to revive it. Stell looked dubious.
Mary took Leesum's paper bag and dumped it on the kitchen floor by the washing machine. She pushed Leesum down the hall to the bathroom. “Hand me your clothes out the door and run that tub full of hot water.”
“Yes'm.”
She went up to her room, returned with her long chenille robe, and dropped it outside the bathroom door. “Here's a dressing gown for you.”
After his bath, Leesum came into the kitchen wearing Mary's robe. It was miserably small, but it covered him so he'd be decent till his clothes dried. I tried not to stare at him, but he didn't seem to care. I had thought he was fairly dark, and was amazed how the bath had lightened him. His ropy hair looked dry, but water ran from it down his golden bronze face. His eyes were a hypnotizing pale green, his lips full, his teeth gleaming white. I was surprised that a colored boy was so good-looking.
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.
C
HAPTER 10
M
ary 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?”
“Everybody knows it.” I took a sip of the coffee, added more sugar.
“I can't say if they was or not, but one didn't see much of the other, not the whole time your grandma was here. She hasn't been back since, that I knows.” Mary looked out the window, shaking her head. “He this one's son and that one's husband. Womenfolks is bad not to get along.”
“What you need from the freezer?”
“A quart of strawberries, another pound of bacon, two boxes of cream corn. You want to write it down?”
“A quart of bacon, another pound of cream corn, two boxes of strawberries.”
I returned to the kitchen, my arms full. Mary handed me a paper. “Your mama says you got to do these things.”
I groaned. “Windex rec room windows. Sweep breezeway rug and front walk. First vacuum, then dust living room and den.” I stuffed the list in my pocket. “She always reminds me to vacuum before dusting, like I'm a moron.”
“My mama always said dust first. Chicken and the egg.”
“You know why Meemaw has to stay in the rec room?”
Mary raised her eyebrows. She knew my question was loaded. “You reckon you know why?”
“So Mama won't have to share her bathroom.”
“Hmph. You just get to the things on that list.”
I looked at the clock over the kitchen sink. “Stell sure knows how to get out of work.”
“She got all that silver to polish when she gets done her Bible study.”
“She's better at polishing apples.”
“Uh-huh.” Mary handed me the Windex. She wasn't taking sides this morning.
Up in the rec room, I tuned the radio to WGIV, a jive station Mama hated. With the volume turned all the way up, I washed the windows to the Chatty Hattie Show. Leaves and grass were matted into the straw rug on the porch, and before I'd finished sweeping it, Mary came out to inspect.
“I know it's hard, but you got to go over it again. Your mama'll want every speck of red mud off that rug.”
I did it again, pretending I was a parlor maid for a rich family in Boston in 1850. I wore gray uniforms with long skirts and ruffled white aprons. When I spoke to my mistress, I said, “Yes, ma'am,” and curtsied. She didn't know I was going to be a mail-order bride for a silent handsome cowboy in the untamed West.
Mama came home from the beauty parlor smelling of crème rinse. She had a bouquet of mums and gladiolas in her arms. “Gee, Mama, you're gorgeous.”
“Thank you, Jubie.”
“What'd you get done besides your hair?”
“Got my legs waxed, a pedicure, a manicure . . .”—she put the flowers on the bar and waggled her glossy nails—“and a facial. This morning I saw dimples in my thighs. They'll sag more each day for the rest of my life. I can feel them shaking with every step.” She took her cigarette case from her purse, pulled out a Camel, and tamped it on the bar. “I thought I'd never get done.” She exhaled a puff of smoke with every word. “A dryer was broken and they had us stacked up, taking turns on the other two.” With her thumb and ring finger she plucked a piece of tobacco from her tongue, flicked it away, and looked at her watch. “I'll go get changed. The porch and the walk look good. Is the rec room done?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Better get going with the vacuum. It's getting late.”
“Ugh.”
“No sense complaining, young lady. Finish everything on that list or you'll do without supper.”
I was under the sofa, trying to plug in the Electrolux, and hoping Mama didn't know about the dust bunnies, when she called from the kitchen, “Jubie, before you start, bring me the blue vase from the dining room.”
I took the vase from the top shelf of the corner cabinet, blowing dust off the cobalt crystal, which shone like the sapphires in Mama's dinner ring. She had never let me pick it up and I hadn't known how heavy it was. I cradled it in my arms and took it to Mama.
With the vacuum running, I sat on the Sheraton and pushed the nozzle back and forth across the rug, jumping up when Mama came into the living room. “Let that go and help me take things to the rec room.” She carried the blue vase full of flowers. I followed her with an armful of thick terry towels and our best percale sheets.
Stell came in the den door. Mama said, “Silver needs polishing, and the tablecloth has to be ironed. How was Bible Club?”
“Reverend Coonts has bad breath.”
“That's a terrible thing to say about a preacher.”
Stell looked at her nails, which she'd spent an hour manicuring the night before. “I'll ruin my nails if I polish silver.”
“Use rubber gloves. Get to it, young lady.”
Stell gave Mama a look I would have been smacked for and left the den.
“Where are you going?” Mama asked.
“To change my clothes.” Stell didn't turn around.
“Estelle Annette!”
Stell stopped, her back to Mama. “What? I don't want polish on my good blouse.”
“Oh, all right. C'mon, Jubie, we've got to finish.”
Mama put the vase in the middle of the breakfast table in the rec room and arranged the flowers. She refolded the bath towel and hung it over the bathroom rod, then walked around touching things.
“What's that?” I pointed to wineglasses and a carafe of liquid on a tray in the kitchenette.
“Sherry.” Mama wrinkled her nose. “Your grandmother wants a nip before bed.” She inspected the windows. “They'll do. The room looks good, don't you think?”
“If Meemaw doesn't like it, she can stay in my room. I'd be glad to sleep here.”
“Well, I'm glad we can give Cordelia her own private place.” Mama stood in the middle of the room, chin in hand. She snapped her fingers, went to the closet, and tossed a lumpy bed pillow at me. “Go get your pillow. Cordelia won't sleep on anything but goose down.”
When I got back with my feather pillow, Mama had moved the flowers to a table by one of the windows.
“It catches the sunlight,” I said.
“It's too elegant for the rec room, but Cordelia will know we made things special for her.” She nudged a gladiola into place. “Your father can't complain. I even remembered the sherry.”
We went down the stairs. Mama sniffed the air. “Take a shower before you dress.”
“I had a shower this morning.”
“June, you do not smell like a lady.”
I took the shower but didn't use soap. I put on my gray wool skirt, my white blouse with the Peter Pan collar, the red belt that matched my shoes. Then I got out the fab brooch Aunt Rita had given me and pinned it at my neck. The red jewels twinkled.
I was sitting in the queen chair when Stell came downstairs, looking just right, as usual. The den door opened. Puddin ran in. “They're here! Daddy and Meemaw.”
I followed Puddin to the garage. Daddy had just opened the car door, and there was Meemaw, her face hidden by a low-brimmed brown hat. She put out her hand for Daddy to help her from the car. She was much fatter than I remembered and the top of her hat didn't reach my shoulder. “Why, June, how you've—and Carolina—you girls, you girls.” She squeezed my hand. Puddin hugged her, and her skinny arms didn't go halfway around Meemaw's middle.
“My word, Carolina, you're not a baby any—so where is my grandson? Estelle, you standing there quiet—I mean, a lady. Last time, I was dizzy with your chatter.” They put their arms around each other briefly. They were the same height, though I'd never thought Stell was so short.
Daddy put his hand under Meemaw's elbow and said, “Come on, Mother, let's go in the house.” It was strange to hear Daddy calling someone Mother.
Meemaw waddled through the breezeway, her body swaying from side to side.
Mama met us at the den door and said, “Hello, Cordelia. It's so nice to have you.” They touched cheeks.
“I'll take your coat and hat, Miz Watts.” Mary stepped from behind Mama. She had on a black uniform, a starched apron, and a stiff little hat like a dollop of whipped cream plopped on her head. A maid from the movies.
Without the felt cloche and wool coat, Meemaw looked soft. Her gray hair swirled into a thick bun near the crown of her head, wisps curling around her face. In the den, she sat in Daddy's platform rocker and put her feet on the ottoman. Her leather lace-ups were doll shoes on Daddy's big footstool, and her ankles were so puffed out over the tops of her shoes I wanted to poke them.
Meemaw sighed loudly.
Daddy cleared his throat. “Paula, how about some coffee?”
Mama called over her shoulder, “Mary? Coffee, please. The service.”
“Where's David?” Meemaw asked. “Thought you'd—I mean, got to be getting big.”
“He's asleep,” I said.
“Takes good naps, does he?”
“Usually,” I said. “He's a great kid.”
Mama focused on the brooch glittering at my neck. She closed her eyes and looked pained, smoothed the skirt of her amber silk, touched her gold necklace.
Mary came in carrying a tray with the silver service on it. She put everything down on the coffee table and backed out. I wished she'd stay.
Mama poured a cup of coffee and asked Meemaw, “Cream and sugar?”
Meemaw shook her head. “Don't drink it this late in the day.”
Mama handed the cup to Daddy. “How was your trip, Cordelia?”
“It'd be nice if we got what we paid—I mean, bumping along in a train car since early this morning.”
Nobody said anything while Meemaw sat and rocked slightly, the reading lamp behind her, her hair shining.
Daddy said, “Was your compartment okay?”
“Might have been. Wish I'd been left in peace.”
“We booked a private compartment.”
“You couldn't know they would—I mean, people just barge.”
Everyone waited for her to finish, but she sat there with her hands clasped across her stomach.
Mama asked, “Cordelia, are you saying somebody shared your compartment?”
“Three of them. Came in and made theirselfs comfortable.”
“Why didn't you report them to the conductor?” asked Daddy.
“ 'Twas his idea. Train was crowded. He asked if I'd mind sharing—a woman and her two children. Her daddy had died from his heart—so a mercy trip, you know. What can you say, if you—I mean, they gave me a voucher for when I go home.” She reached to the floor, where she'd set her pocketbook, fished around in it, and held up a paper.

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