Ugly Ways (30 page)

Betty tried to pull her sisters over into her arms, but she couldn't hold them tightly enough to ease the moaning and crying they had all fallen into. So, she reached down and pulled Mudear's body closer and nestled the dead woman's head in the soft silk of her royal blue skirt.

Then, their loud mourning took another step and their wails became keens, high-pitched and wounded sounding like animals. Their teardrops fell on Mudear's face, her breasts, her arms, her stomach, her thighs like the sprinkle of baptismal water, but it brought no healing relief for the girls.

"The Lovejoy women are having a hard time, huh?" Emily asked as all of them sat on the floor rocking each other with Mudear's stiff body lying across their laps, their faces streaked with makeup and tears.

Betty looked at Emily, then at all the Lovejoy women stretched out on the floor, and said, "Um-huh."

"Mudear, too?" Emily asked.

Betty looked down at Mudear's head and noticed for the first time nappy little balls of gray hair at the nape of her neck. The silvery pepper pods stood out in stark relief against the brown skin of her neck.

"Mudear, too, Em-Em," Betty replied.

And they all reached down to touch Mudear again: Betty her face, Annie Ruth her tight-looking breasts, Emily her bare legs and feet. Without consulting each other Betty began.

"Mudear, you remember that pink flowered bed jacket that disappeared a long time ago, your favorite bed jacket you swore someone snuck in the house and stole. I tore it up and burned it in the backyard."

Emily then took her turn.

"When I was nine or ten, Mudear, I used to pray that you would die so we would get a new mama."

Annie Ruth was last.

"When I first moved to L.A., I told people there that you
already were
dead."

They were silent again.

"She's so litde," Annie Ruth said to her sisters in surprise. "Damn, does a person have to die, have to be in a casket before you can really see what size they are?"

Betty reached over and tried to smooth down her mother's stiff hair. "She used to say, 'I'm not selfish. People just think that because I'm short.' I think it was something that she used to say when she was a girl, flirting, maybe. She didn't say it much after the change, though. I hadn't thought about it in years. She just stopped saying it."

Then, they were silent again. They thought and thought, but there didn't seem to be anything else to say.

Suddenly, they realized that they could hear the faint sounds of organ music and for the first time since Mudear fell out of her coffin they thought to look around them.

There was a crowd at the door. Poppa stood at the front and looked at all the Lovejoy women sprawled on the floor of the chapel, their arms and legs and purse straps and high heels entangled.

Seeing them there together made tears come to his eyes. These girls always did belong to Mudear, he thought.

The girls looked up at their father dressed in his dark-blue Sunday suit as if they had been caught grave-robbing. He sort of raised his hand as if in greeting, then, he turned to go look for one of the Parkinson boys to help lift his wife's body back into her coffin.

But he had to practically fight his way down the hall. It seemed that half the town—the mourners from the two services across the hall, the staff of the mortuary, the florist from next door delivering arrangements, the organists, even one of the ministers who had just preached a funeral—was standing behind him trying to look over his shoulder for a peek at the Lovejoy women, together for the last time.

I cannot believe how many people there are jammed into this little memorial room for my services this morning! There must be ninety-five, a hundred people in here. I'm not surprised at some of these folks here. Even though Carrie and I stopped speaking a year or so ago—now what did I say to her that made her so mad? I can't recall—I figured she'd be here. And the folks from Betty's shops, I expected. But look at Effie over there, the big heifer, sitting up there with her whole family. She never did like me. I think she's even fatter than she used to be. I'm in so much better shape than these big-assed, no-exercising women I used to know in East Mulberry. And look at Agnes. Good God, hasn't she got old and ugly. Now, who is that woman with the black and white polka-dot dress on? I don't think I recognize her.

Lord, people will come out when they think they gon' see a show. Bet they thought it was gonna be an open casket. They shoulda come yesterday if they really wanted to see something: my dead body dressed in this ugly navy blue dress sprawled out in the middle of the floor with my girls standing over me acting crazy.

My girls do look nice today, though, don't they? That's a beautiful black wool suit Emily has on even though she ought to know better than to be wearing slacks to a funeral. And that designer knit skirt is pulling mighty tight 'cross Annie Ruth's butt and stomach under that long georgette jacket. But they all look right nice. I always did like Betty in that black silk suit with the long wide skirt. And that cream-colored blouse with all those baby pearl buttons down the front is just the right touch.

Nobody can't say I didn't teach my girls how to dress. And how to carry themselves. Ain't got to say one time to any of 'em to pull up their chins and look to the stars today. Lots of women woulda been too ashamed after the way they behaved yesterday in this funeral home to show their faces around here.

I'm glad the girls or somebody had the good sense to take a pair of shears from the shed out back and cut some of my flowers to put around this place for my memorial services. That big vase of delphiniums is striking. I wonder which of the girls arranged it. But who let those funeral home floral arrangements in here? I hate those things. There's a broken wheel with white and yellow carnations. Corny. Must be from Carrie. And I guess they can't have a funeral without one or two of those bleeding hearts. Red and white carnations. Don't these florists know 'bout nothing but carnations? Well, there's a spray of white roses at least, but they don't have any scent. Uh, store-bought refrigerated roses. That bunch of poppies and larkspur and all kinds of wildflowers from the front of the house by itself put all these others to shame. Now, what's that one supposed to be? It looks like a sheet of lavender chrysanthemums edged in golden ones. What is it? A book? A closed book?
A closed book?
Is that supposed to be funny? Well, at least there's nothing that says "Rest in Peace." I wonder if they even use that anymore written on banners draped across a floral arrangement. "R. I. P." or "We Loved Her but Jesus Loved Her Better.
"

Look at Annie Ruth sitting there with her hand resting on her stomach.

Does she really think she or any of my girls are ever gonna be "free" of me? Especially now that she's gonna have a girl of her own?

Right, like I'm gonna let her bring up that child without me hovering over. Especially now that I got all eternity with nothing to do unless somebody hand me a garden fork or a remote control sometime soon.

Humph, those girls don't know me at all. Or themselves! Now they think they free women 'cause they think they got me told. Humph, getting mad is just the first step.

What's old Ernest getting up for? Don't tell me he gon' give my eulogy! He don't know nothing about public speaking. Hell, he don't know nothing 'bout me!

Well, that wasn't bad. "Esther Lovejoy's life spoke for itself." Well, that ain't bad at all. "Esther Lovejoy's life spoke for itself." And he had enough sense to get up, stand up tall, say his piece, and sit his butt back down.

Now, here come that little Parkinson boy. He think so much of the Lovejoy women, I better watch out he don't sneak his hand up in this casket. Oh, he has an announcement. "Will the family and mourners please proceed to the cars.
"

What? That's it? They're not gonna read something from the Bible? Like "Where your treasure is buried, so is your heart." Or "The humble shall be exalted when the exalted are humbled." Not even "Jesus wept"?

Ain't nobody gonna stand and sing a heartbreaking solo like "Take My Hand, Precious Lord"? No music?

Well, I guess it is more dignified this way. Actually, I kinda liked it.