Perfect Peace (8 page)

“Ain’t you gon’ kiss yo’ daughter good night?” she said, peering over the edge of the bed.

“No, I ain’t,” Gus grumbled. “I’m tired. And, anyway, she don’t know nothin’ ’bout that yet. She don’t even know she in the world.”

“Ah, hell, man,” Emma Jean said, returning her head to the prickly feather pillow. “Ain’t no need in bein’ mad now. The baby’s here. You might as well be glad about it.”

“I’m glad enough.”

Emma Jean sucked her teeth. “You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about. I’ll take care o’ her myself.”

“Good. You the one wanted her.” After a brief pause, Gus added, “I’ll do whatever I can, but I can’t promise you nothin’ else. I don’t know nothin’ ’bout raisin’ no girls.”

Perfect whimpered sweetly and Emma Jean unbuttoned her gown, allowing the child to suckle.

As badly as Gus wanted sleep, it wouldn’t come. The cleansing had certainly drained him, but his anxiety about having another child kept him
awake. “We might get a decent crop after all, now that de rains done come,” he said, staring at the ceiling.

“Un-huh. Might.”

“Yeah, look like we gon’ be all right. You’ll have a lot to can this year if de tomatoes, peas, and corn make de way they oughta. In a coupla years, that girl oughta be ready to give you a hand.”

“Perfect. Her name’s Perfect.”

“All right. Perfect.” Gus frowned. “And why did you name her that anyway? I ain’t never heard o’ nobody named Perfect.”

“ ’Cause I like it,” Emma Jean sassed, rubbing the baby’s silky-smooth, featherlike hair, “and because the name tells people exactly what she is.”

“Okay, but, like I said, I ain’t never heard o’ nobody named Perfect before.”

“Of course you ain’t. My baby’s special.”

Gus mouthed the name repeatedly, hoping the awkwardness might subside, but it didn’t.

“Hand me that towel over there,” Emma Jean asked.

Gus rose and passed her the towel resting on the back of a chair. When he saw her breast, he turned away quickly and returned to the floor. Emma Jean almost screamed, finding it ridiculous that an exposed breast disturbed a father of seven, but then she reminded herself that Gus hadn’t often seen her naked. Months ago, when they used to touch, it always happened in the dark, she recalled, so maybe Gus didn’t connect the sight of breasts with the joy he once got from them.

Perfect drifted back to sleep and Emma Jean rolled to the edge of the bed again.

“A girl needs thangs boys ain’t gotta have, you know,” she said as though introducing Gus to the concept of calculus.

“That’s why I didn’t want one.”

“Well, we got one now, and raisin’ a girl is different from raisin’ dem knucklehead boys. She gotta have pretty ribbons for her hair”—Emma Jean smiled—“and dresses to match.”

“You know we can’t afford no expensive stuff like that. We barely eatin’ as it is!”

“. . . and cute li’l pocketbooks for Easter Sunday morning. Course it ain’t got to be nothin’ too fancy, but then again ain’t nothin’ too good fu my baby girl!”

“Stop it, Emma Jean. Just stop it. You know we can’t buy none o’ dat stuff. This is ’xactly why I didn’t want no mo’ chillen. Boy or girl.”

“Well, fine, we won’t have any more, but we can’t act like Perfect ain’t here ’cause she is, and li’l girls gotta have thangs li’l boys don’t.”

“We ain’t got no money fu dat shit you talkin’ ’bout, Emma Jean! We can’t even keep dese boys’ feets covered in de winter, and now you talkin’ ’bout buyin’ needless stuff like hair ribbons?” Gus slammed his right fist into his left palm. “I knowed this was gon’ happen. I knowed it.”

“Well, yes, it’s done happened now,” Emma Jean commented casually, “and you ain’t gon’ have my li’l girl runnin’ ’round here lookin’ like no black pickaninny!”

“She gon’ look like whatever she look like,” Gus said. “And she ain’t gon’ git no mo’ than what these boys gits. I know a girl wear dresses and all, but she can’t be walkin’ ’round lookin’ like a princess while de boys lookin’ like slaves!”

“All I’m sayin’ is that Perfect is a girl, and girls need thangs boys don’t. And she gon’ have whatever she need.”

“She’ll get whatever we can give her,” Gus said matter-of-factly.

Emma Jean cackled. “That’s fine. I’ll have Authorly paint the bedroom yellow. Girls usually like yellow.”

Gus was silent.

“It’s gotta look like a girl’s room.”

“I don’t care what color you paint it.”

“Fine. Then yellow it is. She’ll love it. You’ll see.”

In the living room, Mister whispered in the dark, “Can Perfect swim wit’ us in de pond when she get bigger?”

“No, fool!” Authorly said. “Girls don’t swim naked wit’ boys.”

“Why not?”

“ ’Cause they girls! Boys ain’t s’pose to be seein’ no naked girls ’til they get married.”

“Why not?”

“ ’Cause Momma say it ain’t right. She say it’s a sin to see a naked girl before she become yo’ wife.”

“But Perfect ain’t gon’ neva be my wife! She my sister!”

“Don’t make no difference. She still a girl, and if you see her naked, you
goin’ to hell. Remember what Momma said: we can’t even change her diapers.”

“Oh yeah,” Mister moaned. “But she can sleep wit’ me, right? I don’t mind at all. Not even a little bit.”

James Earl rubbed Mister’s head lovingly but said nothing. Sol added, “She’ll get her own bed, li’l brother. She’ll probably get the other bedroom all by herself.”

“Of course she’ll get it,” Authorly said. “We’ll all just have to sleep out here ’cause girls and boys can’t sleep in the same room. Dang, Mister, you don’t know nothin’ ’bout girls, huh?”

“I ain’t never knowed none, ’cept de girls at church, and they ugly.”

Authorly and Woody chuckled. Bartimaeus snored.

“All you gotta know is dat girls and boys is different, and the two don’t get together ’til they get married.”

“Momma play wit’ us sometimes, and she’s a girl!”

“No she ain’t,” Authorly corrected. “She a woman.”

“Is Perfect gon’ be a woman, too?”

Woody snickered. “All girls grow up to be women, boy.”

“Well, I’ll play with her then.”

“No, you won’t,” Authorly said, “ ’cause women cook and sew and piece quilts and stuff like that. They don’t play with li’l boys.”

“Anyway,” Woody added, “when Perfect becomes a woman, you’ll already be a grown man, and you won’t wanna play wit’ her anyway.”

“I bet chu I will! And we’ll have a lot o’ fun, too!”

“A sister ain’t s’pose to be fun.” Authorly sighed. “She s’pose to do woman stuff so she can be a momma one day.”

“They don’t have no fun when they little?”

Woody said, “They play with baby dolls and stuff.”

“Yeah, but even when they play wit’ baby dolls,” Authorly said, “they practicin’ how to take care o’ they own kids. That’s de whole point o’ givin’ them dolls in the first place.”

“Oh,” Mister said, and nodded. “But why don’t boys play wit’ baby dolls, too? Don’t they need to learn how to be daddies?”

The brothers laughed.

“No, man!” Authorly screeched. “Bein’ a daddy is easy. It don’t take much. All you gotta do is work. That’s why boys ain’t got to practice. They jes’ learn how to work, and when they get married and babies come, they jes’ keep
workin’. But bein’ a momma is a whole different story. That’s why girls gotta learn how to take care o’ everybody—de husband and de kids—all at de same time.”

“Why they gotta do everything?”

“ ’Cause de Bible say so, stupid. Raisin’ kids is a woman’s job. Didn’t you hear Reverend Lindsey last Sunday? Dat’s why God make women carry de babies. De man is s’pose to work and de woman is s’pose to raise de kids and take care o’ de husband and de house.”

“That ain’t fair,” Mister said.

“It
is
fair,” Authorly assured him. “And anyway, Reverend Lindsey say women like it. He say God make ’em dat way.”

“Okay, but I’d rather be a boy.”

“Sure you would. Everybody would. But everybody cain’t, ’cause then who would carry de babies? I’m sure bein’ a girl ain’t so bad if that’s all you ever been.”

Mister relinquished the hope of ever playing with Perfect. He drifted to sleep praying she would learn all the things necessary to become a good wife one day.

The next afternoon, Gracie arrived slightly before dinner.

“Hi, Aunt Gracie!” Mister shouted from the porch.

“Give her time to get here,” Authorly reprimanded. “You see she comin’. Ain’t no need in hollerin’.”

Gracie switched toward the house in a soft pink and lavender pastel summer dress. Her hefty breasts, bouncing vertically, distracted boys and attracted men. Most agreed that, physically, she was peerless, although Gus quickly reminded them that her looks didn’t fix her snobby disposition.

“Good afternoon, boys.”

“Momma had de baby!” Mister belted before anyone else could speak.

“Yes, I heard. Henrietta told me yesterday. You boys have a sister now, I understand.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they answered.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll take good care of her. With six brothers, a young lady should be well-protected.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they repeated.

“I’m going in to check on your mother. You boys be good.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

When Gracie entered the house, she sashayed past Gus without ever acknowledging his presence.

“Um,” he grunted.

She lifted her head a few centimeters higher and entered the bedroom.

“How you doin’, girl?” Emma Jean saluted groggily after her eyes focused. “You got choself a niece now.”

“So I hear.”

“Ain’t she pretty?” Emma Jean folded back the bedspread from Perfect’s face.

Gracie sat her pocketbook on the floor and rubbed the baby’s head gently. “She’s beautiful. All that hair! Wow. Looks sorta like you—thank God.”

“All right, girl. Don’t start that.”

“I’m just joking.”

Gracie’s face went sour.

“What’s wrong?”

She sat on the bed lightly. “Momma’s sick, Emma.”

Emma Jean’s lips puckered. “I know.”

“I know? Is that’s all you can say,
I know
? Why haven’t you gone to see her?”

“ ’Cause I didn’t want to. The boys go by sometimes. They tell me how she’s doin’.”

“Why don’t
you
go, Emma Jean?”

“ ’Cause ain’t no need to. She got plenty o’ visitors without me. I’m the last person Momma ever needed.”

“She wants to see you, Emma. She needs to see you. She asked for you.”

“Well, she know where I live. She can come anytime.”

“No, she can’t. She’s too sick to get out. You know that.”

“Well, I’ll pray for her.”

Gracie shook her head. “She doesn’t need your prayers, Emma Jean. She needs you. I know why you hate her. It makes sense. But it doesn’t make sense to take it to your grave.”

“What chu talkin’ ’bout, girl?”

“Aw, come on, Emma Jean. I was there! Remember? We grew up in the same house! I saw how Momma treated you.”

“Well, if you saw it, you sure didn’t say much.”

“We were kids! What was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, but you coulda said somethin’.”

Gracie stood. “I did!”

“When?” Emma Jean bellowed.

“That day you came back from the chicken coop all dirty! You remember that? I was the one who helped you get cleaned up!”

Emma Jean nodded. “That’s true. Thanks.”

“I don’t need your thanks, Emma Jean. I want you to go see Momma before it’s too late.”

Emma Jean rolled her eyes. “Me and Momma ain’t got nothin’ to say to each other. I have perfect peace in my heart, so just leave it alone.”

Gracie resumed her seat on the bed. “Emma Jean, look. Momma gon’ have to pay for what she did to you, but you don’t have to suffer for it. Not anymore.”

“Me? Suffer?”

“Oh, come on, Emma Jean! Let’s not play games. Denial makes people repeat what they aren’t willing to acknowledge.”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“I’m talking about how Momma treated you! That’s what I’m talking about. I’m talkin’ about that Easter Sunday morning when Momma handed Pearlie and me those brand-new yellow dresses but didn’t give you one. I remember that, Emma Jean. I remember the look of disappointment on your face. I remember telling myself that I was going to be nice to you from then on. I started saving pennies and nickels in that snuff can under the bed so I could buy you a yellow dress myself. I just never saved enough. I remember it like it was yesterday.”

Emma Jean couldn’t hold back the tears.

“Momma was wrong. She didn’t have no business treating you that way. I remember you asking where your dress was and she told you to shut up and wear my old one. Of course it was too big and she never could get that huge chocolate ice cream stain off the front. Everybody told me and Pearlie how pretty we were, how pretty our hair was, how pretty our new shoes shined, and that was enough for Momma. We sat next to her on the front pew and she told you to sit behind us. She hadn’t even done your hair.”