Apron Strings (24 page)

“Don’ matter. We just makin’ sandwiches,” she said.

“People gonna eat ‘em, ain’t they?” I asked. “Ya can’t feed nobody dirty food.”

She started cuttin’ the bread, then handed me a knife an’ told me how to make a sandwich; somethin’ I been doin’ since I was big enough to hold a knife. I did the best I could to pick the dirt off the bread until she said to quit. “Put the white side up and nobody’ll notice.” Ashamed at myself, I did what she said.

They must have gotten old Clarence buried. Mo’ and mo’ folks was jest standin’ ‘round under the trees, talkin’. Afore too long, the yard was filled wit’ dozens of laughin’, shoutin’ people. They covered them tables with sheets and plates of chicken, collards, potato salad, stewed
tomatoes, and deviled eggs was set out. I put our plate of sandwiches as far in the middle of the table as I could, hopin’ they’d be too hard to reach or to bother wit’. ‘Sides, the farther away they was, the harder it was to see them specks of dirt in the bread.

Across from the food tables was a lemonade table with pitchers of water and cups. I noticed the men was takin’ cups but not helpin’ themselves to the lemonade or the water. Alberta, who had gone over to talk with some folks, come back with a cup in her hand. “Well, you want some?” She held out the cup.

“Lemonade? Don’ mind if I do.” I took a big pull on that cup and did everything in my power not to spray her and everybody else around with that foul tasting slop. I spluttered like a drownin’ man. It burned my throat. Tears welled up in my eyes and I’m not sure smoke didn’ come out my ears. I know I looked a fool, coughin’ an’ hackin’ like I was. A few onlookers hurried away. “That ain’t no lemonade,” I said. “Ya tryin’ to poison me?”

Alberta laughed, took the cup back, and tossed the rest of it down. “Want more?” She followed the men folk ‘round the other side of the tree. When she walked back, she was holdin’ a big glass full of what looked like lemonade. “Try this,” she said, holdin’ the glass out to me. “It’s pretty good. Tastes like lemonade.” And it did too, but no lemonade ever made you feel as good. Afore long I had the same goofy grin Alberta was wearin’ and I felt like I was floatin’ on down the river. We sat by that tree, laughin’ an’ drankin’ that powerful good lemonade, watchin’ people doin’ what people do; thinkin’ it was about the funniest thing we’d ever laid eyes on.

Next thing I knowed, the sun was peepin’ up and I felt like I’d been beat with a bag of rocks. Alberta was laid out beside me, mouth wide open; snorin’ to beat the band. We was leanin’ up ‘gainst that tree. Sunlight lit up the trash and tall patches of grass that littered the yard. A rooster was crowin’ like to bust his gut, and mine was busy churnin’ like nobody’s business. I couldn’ be late for work. Miz Nancy, the cook at the boardinghouse, would skin me alive if I didn’ have the stove lit and water on to boil by the time she got there. I jumped up and made to run, but my legs wouldn’ work, and my head felt like fireworks was
going off in it. My gut wrenched. I had to lay down before I threw up. “Alberta? You ain’t dead, is ya?” I poked my sister who stirred and opened her eyes.

“Oh God, have mercy on me, I wish I was,” she whispered. Then she turned and threw up. That started me goin’. We was jest a
mess
. First she’d spew, and then I’d spew. Neither of us had the strength to move. We just laid there in our own vomit. By the time the sun was up good, my head was still swimmin’. Then I look up and see Miz Nancy’s black face with her little piggy eyes roundin’ the house. She still had a washrag in her hand and a dishtowel tucked into her apron string. She didn’ have to tell me who been doin’ the dishes. She weren’t one bit happy, neither. Under her flat nose, her mouth was twisted up in a scowl. Early as it was, the whole mornin’ was goin’ to hell in a handbasket. Lookin’ at Miz Nancy, I felt like I might spew all over again.

“Now look at you fools,” she said, as she stood over us with her hands on her big hips, shaking her head and tutting. “When you ain’t come in this morning, Ethel, I knew where you was. I got breakfast done myself and the cleanin’ up, too, no thanks to you. Saw you two last night actin’ all stupid. Figured you be laid out,” she muttered, wagging her finger and sucking her tongue. Then she leaned in real close an’ started barkin’ out orders so loud me and Alberta both jumped up, even though we could barely see straight. “You betta get yo’selves up and outta here, and Lord God, cleaned up before I tell your mama what you been up to. And don’ you let Miz Dupree get a whiff of this or you be outta a job. Come on now, I gots lunch to do!” And then, as if Alberta needed some reminding, she added over her shoulder, “Alberta, you ain’t down at the laundry! Theys don’ puts up with missing no work. You better get on outta here, girl.”

Roberta, Alberta, and I finally had our “pretendin’” cocktail party ‘bout a month later. We lazed around on the funeral parlor’s porch talkin’ ‘bout how funny it was watchin’ people act a fool. For reasons I can’t explain, I remembered the fun I had with Alberta and the lemonade far more clearly than the hangover the day after. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have taken another drink.

“That lemonade tasted good,” I said, lookin’ down at the contents of my glass, “not like this.” I made a face as I drank the whiskey Roberta had swiped from Miz Boyle.

“It be good for you to drink this here whiskey, then,” Roberta said. “Thata way yo’ won’t be drankin’ too much.”

“Sho’ ‘nough.” My face screwed up as I swallowed the last of my cup, but I held it out for a refill. That warm feeling of the edges slidin’ off had commenced, and it was worth no end of nasty taste. We were so busy drinkin’, we forgot all about pretendin’ to be at a white folks’ cocktail party. All afternoon long we sat up on that ol’ porch drinkin’ the little bit of whiskey Roberta brought.

When I complained that there was no more, Roberta asked, “Did ya’ll have fun?”

When I nodded yes, she said, “Then they’s was just the right amount. You don’ be drinkin’ just to drink. ‘Spose to enjoy yo’ self.”

Alberta grumbled, “G’on wit’ yo’ snooty self, girl. Imma get me my own hooch, an’ I won’ be havin’ to listen to you tell me when I done had enough.” From then on Alberta and I did most of our drinkin’ wit’out Roberta and her big headed self. The porch was ours out of habit. Every Sunday that we had off—when there wasn’t a funeral—Alberta and me would be drinkin’ on that funeral parlor porch.

One Sunday we was sittin’ on the porch, talkin’ ‘bout how glad we was that the funeral scheduled for that day had been earlier than usual so it didn’t take up our drinkin’ time. Between the two of us, and a whole lot of trial and error, we’d come close to figurin’ out about how much to drink to feel good before we slipped into feelin’ some kind of bad. Most times we stayed on the feel good side.

Alberta and I was laughin’ over I don’t know what, when all of a sudden she stopped short and shushed me. “Did you hear that?” she asked as her head whipped one way then the next. “They somebody in there.” She hunkered down like to hide behind the porch rail.

“Why you hidin’ like that? If’n they’s somebody there, they’s gonna see you. That rail ain’t gonna do you no good, big as you is.” I hadn’t heard anything and thought she was just actin’ a fool.

Then the front door opened and a real good-lookin’ man walked out on the porch carryin’ a broom. “Evenin’,” he said with a nod to Alberta who busied herself tryin’ to straighten up and look dignified. Then he turned and nodded to me.

“Evenin’,” I said, suddenly very aware that I did not belong on that porch. But he didn’t say nothin’ more, just went on ‘bout his sweepin’ like we was suppose to be there. Alberta leaned back in her chair and took a sip from her cup as natural as could be. All of a sudden, I knew what a bird on a wire felt like. I didn’t know whether to fly or sit. I pushed my cup behind the chair leg and fiddled with a button on my dress. After a while Alberta commenced conversin’.

“Nice evenin’,” she said. “Was they a good turnout at the funeral today? Who died? I don’t recollect hearin’.”

“No’m, jest the family. It was Lottie Johnson’s baby,” he answered. My stomach, which had already commenced ta flip-floppin’, dropped like a stone at that. I felt queasy just thinkin’ bout a little baby all laid out in a tiny coffin.

“Hm,” Alberta said. “Shame ‘bout that. I ‘spect we be pushin’ on then.” She heaved herself out the chair tryin’ to look sober, but drunk as she was, it was all she could do to get off the porch wit’out fallin’ in the dust.

I had to talk myself off that porch and remind myself to breathe. I was so busy concentratin’ on walkin’, I almost fell over from not breathin’. I left my cup behind the chair leg, too ‘shamed to pick it up.

Got near ways to the road and I hear the man callin’, “Miz, you forgot yo’ cup.” His hand was holdin’ out my old chipped mug. I liked ta died right there.

“Thanky,” is all I could think to say. I took the mug and turned back toward Alberta who was waitin’ at the road for me.

“Why you lookin’ all mooney eyed?” she asked as she stood swayin’ and starin’ at me. I cut a quick look back at the funeral home. The porch was empty.

I couldn’t get that man’s face and voice outta my head. I’d find myself thinkin’ back to him when I was doin’ my work for Miz Dupree, and I’d
find myself lookin’ for a glimpse of him whenever I’d pass by the funeral home. I finally worked up the nerve to ask Alberta his name. She told me it was “Early,” then she gave me a sharp look like to say,
Not that it’s any o’ yo’ business
. Early was different than any man I ever did see. He had a kindness about him. He looked at you like you was something of value—not like he could get something outta you—but as if he meant to take care of you, like a good pair of shoes. I bet he kept his house neat, too.

One afternoon, a few weeks after I first seen him, Alberta and I was back on the porch of the funeral home. It was gettin’ on toward winter, and the gov’ment done said beer was legal again. We had two bottles, each in its own little sack. I kept lookin’ around, expecting to see Early. I asked Alberta about him. She got this thinkin’ look on her face, like she was tryin’ to remember all the things she’d heard about him. Then she said, “He an old lady now. Ain’t no fun. Always be working and such. Wouldn’ be caught dead in a juke joint. Thing is, I hear he weren’t always that way.” She leaned toward me and got a mean little sparkle in her eye, then she said, “I hear he was a drunk and dat he beat his wife.”

“No!” I said, my mouth gaped. I wasn’t sure if I was more upset to learn he’d been married before or that people said he beat his wife.

“Yessum. Beat her near to death! Then she had a baby and some folks say he stopped beatin’ on her after that.” Her voice softened a little. “But when his wife got pregnant again, she and the baby died in labor. Some folks say he killed her. Others say it was God’s way of punishin’ him for his drinkin’. But I don’t think he killed ‘er. After she died, he was so put out he couldn’ take care of his little boy. That boy—his name’s Junior—I think he’s not much younger than you, lives with his mama’s people in Washington.” She was strokin’ her chin like she had a beard, “I think.”

I was startin’ to feel pretty strong ‘bout Early, an’ I didn’t wanna hear nobody sayin’ that kinda thing ‘bout im. How could that kind man have done what Alberta say? “How come you know’d so much about it?” I asked, tryin’ to sound casual.

She continued on like I hadn’t opened my mouth. That was the thing about Alberta: she didn’ like to give you information wit’out you askin’ for it. She wanted to make sure that if she be talkin’, you be listenin’.
But Lord a mercy, once you got her to talkin’, it’d be easier to stop a freight train tryin’ to make up time than to get a word in edgewise. She kept right on, like she was recitin’ the alphabet. “Didn’ have enough money to bury her right, she passin’ so young an all, so he struck a deal with the undertaker to work off what he couldn’ pay up front. Started cleanin’ and the like, and in recent times he be helpin’ lay the bodies out. Folks says he do lot of the moticianin’ hisself. Suppose to have a license, but it’s coloreds so’s they don’ mind like they do with white folk. People say he could make hisself some good money if’n he go’ed to undertakin’ school. Don’ know much about all that, but I knows he’s cleaned up. He an ol’ lady now, though a right handsome one,” she chuckled at her own joke. Then she turned and looked hard at me. “Why you want ta know, anyway?”

I shrugged and Alberta changed the subject. “I’s cold out here, les go inside.” Alberta moved over to the door and tried the handle. “Locked, humf,” she grunted like she took it personally.

“Alberta, you know goodness well they wouldn’ be leavin’ no door unlocked ‘round chere. People be livin’ in there if’n they did! Shoot, nice house like this be ruined in a blink, too. Jest look at yo’self tryin’ to get in, see if’n you cain’ see what I’m sayin’.” I shook my head and sighed. “I’m goin’ on home. Too cold out chere fo’ me. You comin’?”

She grumbled behind as I stepped off the porch, pulling my too thin sweater round me to keep off the cold. Buttons was long gone. They wouldn’t done much good noways since I was much bigger ‘round than the sweater ever had a hope of bein’.

Alberta looked back at the funeral home. “It woulda been colder in there anyway. Stove ain’t lit. Look—see, no smoke comin’ out the chimley.” I was so busy lookin’ in the direction Alberta was pointin’ that I didn’t see Early comin’.

“Evening, ladies,” he said and tipped his brown felt hat. He had a nice full head of close-cropped hair and a kind, square-jawed face that looked a little like a bull, but nice; real nice. That head of his perched just about perfect on top of a solid, strong body with sturdy legs that was a little on the short side; had him a nice backside, all the same. Lord a mercy, here I was takin’ in a man’s hind parts! I couldn’t get much of a bead on
how old he was. Alberta said he was close to Mama’s age, but I couldn’t believe he’d be that old. He had a real easy way ‘bout ‘im. You could tell he was a studious man in his manner, not all slapdash like most of the men Roberta had buzzin’ ‘round. His round glasses might have made him more studious lookin’ than he really was. I’d have to wait and see ‘bout that.