A Summer of Kings (6 page)

"Yes, Mother, and I appreciate it, I really do."

That seemed to infuriate her. I could tell by the way her face broke out in red blotches.

"You appreciate it? I tell you I've given up on you and you appreciate it?"

I knew if my mother could only see things from my side, she'd understand. I was free. This summer would be my first real vacation since my second third grade. Being on the receiving end of too much of my mother's attention was too much of a bad thing in my book, but I could see from my mother's point of view that she was wanting to make me feel ashamed of myself, so I'd try harder in school and she wouldn't have to give up on me. I didn't want to encourage her, so I just stood there and said nothing in response. Mother didn't need encouragement. She went on without it.

"You got a C in French," Mother said. "With Mr. Vichy living with us and speaking French all the time. It's shameful."

Since the only thing Mr. Vichy said in French were insults to me and praises for Stewart and Sophia, I didn't pay much attention to him or his language.

"Okay, Mother, I'll try harder next year," I said without feeling.

"I'm sure you will," Mother said, turning to me and forcing a smile—the sign that her pick-on-Esther jag was over for the moment.

"Now come on and help me get dinner ready. Our Mr. Johnson has not started off on the right foot here, has he? First he gets lost between getting off the bus and finding the train station, and then he arrives early today, when Daisy has the day off, and when we're not ready to receive him properly."

"But you cook great, Mother, just as good as Daisy, and the house is still clean from yesterday. Anyway, he can't help it if he got lost. He did his best to get here real fast. You said he had to get out of town," I said, glancing out the window for Auntie Pie, then following my mother to the refrigerator. "You said he'd been on the bus all day and all night to get here and he had almost no money and nowhere to go, remember? I bet he was scared last night, lost in a big city like New York."

"Esther, don't tell me what I've said. I know what I've said. The whole thing's just very inconvenient." Mother handed me the broccoli and a bunch of carrots with the tops still on. I carried them over to the counter.

"You sound like you don't trust him all of a sudden, when you were the one who said he was okay, and, Mother, he is," I said, turning back to the refrigerator and taking the swordfish out of Mother's hands. "He's great, just like you said he was going to be." I set the fish in the sink and dug a broiling pan out from under the counter.

Mother grabbed a bib apron and tied it over her green shift with the belt that cinched in her waist so it looked real small and gave her skinny hips some shape.

"I know I never said he was great, Esther. Do I speak like that?"

"You know what I mean. You said you loved your maid Cassie and her two children more than anybody. You said Cassie was like a mother to you and her girl Luray was your best friend when you were little. You said any kin of theirs would always be welcome in your house and you said—"

"Esther, what did I just get through telling you?"

"Not to tell you what you said?"

"Exactly. Now, Cassie has been very honest with me about King-Roy's troubles at home and—"

I interrupted, "And you said it was up to us to show Mr. Johnson that not everyone who comes from the South is prejudiced against Negroes." I nodded.

"And I meant all that." Mother returned to the refrigerator. "I don't cotton to people who judge others by the color of their skin or where they came from or how much money they have, and I don't expect you to, either, Esther."

Whenever we talked about the South, Mother's southern accent got stronger and deeper, and she used words like
cotton to,
and
fixin' to,
and
terectly.
I always liked her best when she let go of herself enough to let her Alabama roots show.

Mother continued, "There are lots of people in the South who feel the way I do. Unfortunately, we're the minority down there."

I turned from the sink, where I had begun chopping the carrots, and saw my mother coming toward me. I felt so proud of her for being so unprejudiced and letting King-Roy come stay that I just turned and grabbed her in a big bear hug, not realizing until it was too late that she had a blueberry pie in her hands.

"Esther! Let go of me," Mother said, her voice muffled by my shoulder.

I let go and stepped back. I knew I had upset her, but I didn't yet know why.

"Now look at this! Just look!"

I did look and I saw that Mother's chest, the bib of the apron, and parts of her dress were covered in blueberry pie, and Mother's face looked furious.

"Oh, Mother, I didn't see. I didn't mean to—I—"

"No, of course not!" Mother said. "Esther, sometimes I wonder where your head is. I found this pie in the vegetable bin."

"I was hiding it from Auntie Pie. I'm sorry, Mother, really. I was just wanting to give you a hug and I didn't see."

Mother set the remainder of the pie down on the counter, then moved to the sink and dabbed at her chest with a sponge. "Esther, at your age and height you can't afford to be clumsy and thoughtless. You've ruined my dress, do you see that?" She glanced at me a second and I nodded.

"I'm so sorry, Mother. I am."

Mother calmed down a little and shook her head. "You're a big girl, Esther. You're not Sophia. You can't just grab me like that, you understand?"

I didn't need anyone to remind me that I wasn't Sophia, but I didn't have time to dwell on that thought or on the stains on Mother's dress; Auntie Pie was coming. I saw her through the window, marching straight for the kitchen, looking like she had something to say, and I knew just what it was.

I left Mother in mid-sentence, still dabbing at her dress, and ran out the kitchen door to catch up with Auntie Pie. I heard Mother calling after me.

"Esther, what in the world! You come on back in here."

I ignored Mother and ran down the driveway toward Auntie Pie. I caught up to her and said, "You didn't put the car back. Beatrice saw it."

Auntie Pie held her chin forward and her thin lips pressed hard together. She kept walking toward the kitchen door.

"Did you hear me? We've got to go move the car and I've got to talk to you."

"And I've got to talk to your mother," she said.

I stood in front of Auntie Pie, walking backward, trying to keep her from seeing Mother at the kitchen window. "What about?"

Auntie Pie tried to brush me aside. "Get out of my way, little girl. I am on a mission of mercy. If we're not careful we'll all be shot dead in our sleep. He must think we're as stupid as pudding."

"Auntie Pie, he's not like that."

"What do you know?"

"I know there weren't any bullets in that gun. I saw with my own eyes." I kept walking backward and Auntie Pie kept aiming for the kitchen door. I felt desperate. We were almost at the door. "Auntie Pie, stop!" I said, holding up my hand and stopping in front of her.

Auntie Pie stopped and put her hands on her hips. "Let me by."

"I know what's really going on here," I said, standing firm. "You're prejudiced. You're afraid of colored people." I said this not really believing it, but when I saw Auntie Pie's expression I changed my mind.

Her face had turned almost purple.

I pointed at her. "It's true. You are! Why, Auntie Pie, you're prejudiced."

She swatted at my hand. "Don't you point your finger at me. I like our Daisy just fine. I have no problem with her or any other Negro person, but this man is a stranger and he's been accused of murder and he has a gun in his suitcase. I have a right to be concerned about the safety of this family."

"But he's not a murderer. That was just some white men putting the blame on him. He didn't do it. You know he didn't. You're acting just like the KKK blaming him. You might as well just put a sheet over your head and carry a flaming cross."

"That's enough. I'm not listening to you. Get out of the way, now."

"No, I won't let you. You can't tell."

Auntie Pie tried to push me aside and I pushed back. "I want him to stay. Auntie Pie, I need him. Please!" I didn't know why I felt so desperate. I couldn't explain it if I had to, but I did feel desperate. I needed him. I needed him for so many reasons.

Again Auntie Pie pushed me and I pushed back, but this time she fell. She fell down onto the gravel.

"Oh, Auntie Pie." I stooped down to help her up. "I'm so sorry. I didn't—"

Auntie Pie caught hold of the front of my shirt and pulled me forward. I didn't know if she was trying to get up or trying to fight me. I landed on top of her and she yelled and pounded on my arms and back. "Get off of me, you—you ... gorilla!"

"What in heaven's name is going on here? Esther, get up off of your great-aunt this instant. What has gotten into you? I am appalled!"

Mother stood on the stoop behind us with a chopping knife in her hand. I made a move to get up, stirring the gravel with my hands as I did, hoping to make enough noise so that Mother wouldn't hear what I was about to say. I whispered into Auntie Pie's ear, "If you tell, I'll tell Mother how you left me there with him and the gun when you thought it was loaded. She'll be furious with King-Roy, and then King-Roy will be after you."

"Esther Josephine! Did you hear what I said? Get off of your aunt this instant. I am ashamed of you!"

I rolled off of my aunt and stood up. Then I leaned forward, offering my hand for her to take so I could help her up.

Auntie Pie didn't take it. She rolled away from me and eased herself up onto her knees and then stood up, using a hand on one knee to brace herself. Her hair, usually in an old-lady bun, had come undone. I was surprised at how long her hair really was. It ran all the way down her back.

"I do not know what to think," Mother said. "Esther, you go to your room and you don't come out until you can explain yourself."

I looked at Auntie Pie, then over at my mother. I couldn't tell by Auntie Pie's expression whether she would tell or not, but I knew just what my mother was thinking. She looked ready to spit in my eye.

"I don't need to go to my room, Mother. I'm ready to explain right now." I pinched my lips together and squinted mean-eyed at my aunt for a good long second. Then I turned around and said, "I need to tell you what happened this afternoon."

Auntie Pie came up behind me and shoved her shoulder into my arm and said, "No, I'll tell her what happened."

I looked down at my aunt, standing beside me, and tried to guess what she would say. Was she going to tell about the gun? She was hard to read. I couldn't take a chance.

I began, "You see, this morning we were out collecting dead squirrels and—"

Auntie Pie shoved me so hard, I fell to the ground. "I said,
I
'd tell it!" she shouted.

Mother held her hand with the knife in it up in the air and said, "Stop it, both of you." She looked at me sitting on the ground wiping the gravel out of my palms and said, "Esther, go to your room and stay there until I tell you to come out. And Auntie Pie—well, I can't send you to your room, but I'd like to. I never thought I'd see the day when I'd see you sink to her level."

Auntie Pie wagged her finger at Mother and said, "Don't you talk to me like I'm one of your children, Nora."

I stood up and waited to hear what else Auntie Pie would tell Mother, but Mother saw me just standing there and she waved her knife at me. "Go on, now, Esther. I won't tell you again."

I marched off toward the front of the house, and the last thing I heard was Mother saying to Auntie Pie, "Now, what was so important that you had to tell me?"

Mother didn't come get me for dinner, so all through the dinner hour I wondered and worried about King-Roy Johnson. Had Mother asked him to leave? Did Auntie Pie tell on him? I tried to be patient while I waited for everyone to come up to bed. I read Dr. Norman Vincent Peale's book,
A Guide to Confident Living,
and his chapter on how to avoid getting upset, and I listened to my transistor radio, waiting for
Surfin USA
to come on. I wasn't allowed to own any Beach Boys records because Mother said she would not have music in our house by a group of teenaged boys who promoted hedonism as a lifestyle. I tried to explain to Mother how she was costing me my friendships with Laura and Kathy because they didn't want to come over to our house anymore.

The last time I had tried inviting my girlfriends over, Laura had said, "It's just not fun at your house. You don't have any cool record albums, and I've kind of grown out of the secret rooms and Nancy Drew stuff."

Kathy had agreed. "Yeah, Esther. Your house was fun when we were kids, but what's there to do there anymore? And your house is too far away, anyway."

When I told Mother this, she had said, "If all those girls want to do is ruin their minds with loud hedonistic music, then you're better off without them," which showed how much she knew about my life. Without Kathy and Laura, all I had was Pip, and Pip was just one more reason why they didn't want to come over anymore. "Why's Pip-squeak always over there? He's so immature," Laura had said.

"Yeah, Esther, he's so immature," Kathy had agreed.

So I listened for
Surfin' USA
on the transistor and listened for footsteps in the hallway. It seemed like no one was ever going to come up to bed. At one point I heard Sophia and Stewart singing "Dites Moi" from the play,
South Pacific,
and that at least gave me hope that King-Roy was still there. Mother always had my brother and sister entertain new guests.

At last I heard footsteps, and I jumped off my bed and ran to my doorway to listen. First came Sophia and Mother, and soon after I heard the footsteps of Beatrice and the Beast and a few minutes later, Stewart's and Auntie Pie's footsteps, and then that was all and I thought King-Roy must have left. Mother would never have left a new guest downstairs in our house alone. Despite Dr. Norman Vincent Peale's advice, I was upset. I couldn't stand not knowing what had happened, so I scooted on down to Auntie Pie's room and knocked on her door.