Walking Across Egypt (15 page)

Mattie, in her pajamas, sat at her dresser and squirted a bit of Jergens lotion into her hand. She rubbed her hands together. She heard the water swash around in the tub. It was a good sound in a way. She wasn't alone like she'd been for four years. Or was it five? Five. Well, Elaine had stayed for several nights after Paul died. And Robert stayed over about twice a year. But here was an outsider in her house at night, sharing her home, her bath—someone who was needy. Of course Elaine and Robert were needy in their own way. They needed a husband and a wife. She opened the jar of Pond's cold cream and took out some on the tips of her fingers. She rubbed her hands together and rubbed the cold cream on her face: cheeks, forehead, chin. She would check one more time to see if he was out. And then she wouldn't worry anymore. It was 10:30. She needed to get to sleep. Tomorrow would be a big day.

Wesley was a black balloon floating up, up, up. A ceiling of some sort was coming down, down, down. They met; he bounced repeatedly off the ceiling: knock, knock, knock.

"Isn't it about time for you to get out?"

He awoke. Where the hell was he? He bolted up and looked at the water around him. It came to him: cake, food, warmth. "I'm getting out now. I went to sleep."

"You could drown with all that water you got drawed in there."

"I won't drown." He stood slowly. His body felt so heavy. He grabbed a towel.

"Well, I'm going to bed," said Mattie. "Good night."

"Good night." Wesley stood in the water, looking at the water and sang John Prine:

Blow up your TV, throw away your paper.

Move to the country, build you a home.

He stepped out of the tub and began to dry off. He was warm all over.

"Do you like grits?" Mattie asked from the hall.

"I like anything but tomatoes."

"Good home-grown tomatoes?"

"Any kind."

"Lord, there's nothing better in the world. It's so good with bacon. I'm going to have some."

"Eat anything you want." He looked at the door. Why the hell didn't she leave him alone. "Why don't you go on to bed."

"I am. Good night."

"Good night." He believed he would go on to bed himself. He was too tired to go to the Pizza Inn. He pictured the bed waiting. The sheets would probably be white, clean, starched.

In her bedroom Mattie turned back her covers. She stepped to her closed bedroom door and opened it slightly. He might need something in the night, she thought. Might get up and not be able to find the light or something.

Mattie awoke at 4:00 a.m., got up, went barefooted to Wesley's door and pushed on it gently—to see if he was all right, if he was covered up, if she could hear him breathing. If he wasn't covered, she'd cover him. But his door was shut tight. She decided to leave him. She might startle him. She returned to her bed and went back to sleep.

At 5:30 she got up again, put on her housecoat and sweater for breakfast. It was dark outside. She followed the light from her bedroom lamp down the hall—and into the kitchen, and turned on the kitchen light—a coiled fluorescent bulb which had lasted over ten years.

Everything was ready to go. Bacon first, started in a cold frying pan, which was waiting.

What could she have that was special, different? A cantaloupe off the porch—no, she had some sliced in the refrigerator. Molasses? Biscuits? She'd ask him if he knew how to stick his finger in a biscuit, then pour in molasses. When she was growing up there were times when all they'd had for a meal was a biscuit, molasses, and cheese. They'd never been without, but times had gotten thin. She remembered when at school the other children had white bread sandwiches and she and Pearl and her brothers had only biscuits.

At 6:45, with all the food ready, and the table set, Mattie went to Wesley's room to wake him up. She opened the door. Morning light was in the room. Wesley was on his side, facing her, asleep, his arm out over the cover.

She decided not to touch him. He might jump all over the place. "Breakfast's ready."

His eyes opened but he didn't move. Then he jerked up onto his elbow and looked around, stared at her, recognized her. "Damn, I didn't wake up a single time."

"Good. Biscuits are coming out of the oven. Be in the kitchen in five minutes if you want them warm." She walked out.

Wesley stared at a glass knob on the dresser. Warm biscuits?

"I'll be there," he said. He got out of bed, put on his khaki slacks and a T-shirt and started to the kitchen. He stopped by the bathroom. Damn, water still on the floor. Oh, well.

In the kitchen, Mattie was waiting for him with a mop in her hand. "You were supposed to mop the bathroom floor last night."

"Oh yeah. Right. I was so tired I forgot."

"Well, you mop up the floor and you can have breakfast."

Wesley took the mop. "Sure thing I know how to use this." He went to the bathroom, mopped the floor and returned.

"Here, I'll take the mop," said Mattie. "Sit down over there."

"Yeow, that sure smells good." Wesley sat at the table.

"Hand me your plate. I guess you want everything but the tomatoes."

"I like everything but tomatoes. I can't stand tomatoes."

Mattie took Wesley's plate to the stove and dumped on scrambled eggs. "You ever had fried green tomatoes?"

"No." Wesley chugged his orange juice.

"Oh, my Lord, I forgot the biscuits." She opened the oven, reached in, got the pan of biscuits, dropped it on the stove top, picked it up and dropped it again so the biscuits would break away from the pan bottom. "Well, they're not too bad. You like yours brown anyway, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"Well, there you go." Mattie handed Wesley his plate—four slices of bacon, eggs, grits, two biscuits, and three slices of cold cantaloupe, then another glass of orange juice.

Wesley grabbed a biscuit and took a bite.

"Wait a minute, until we say the blessing." He didn't know any better, Mattie thought to herself. "Do you want to say the blessing?"

"No."

Mattie stood by the table. "Dear Lord, we are grateful for these and all the many blessings made possible through Thy bountiful love. In Thy precious name. Amen." She picked up her plate off the table and returned to the stove. "Did you ever stick your finger in a biscuit?"

Wesley looked up and froze. What the hell? "Do what?"

"Stick your finger in your biscuit." Mattie sat at the table. "Like this." She held her biscuit and stuck her finger in so that it passed from one end, the long way—inside the biscuit—almost to the other end, stopping short of breaking through. She pulled her finger back out. "Then pour in molasses. Like this." She slowly poured in molasses, then took a bite. "It's good. Try it. Or you can use your knife handle."

"Wait a minute." Wesley took a bite of eggs, a bite of grits, and two bites of bacon. While he chewed he stuck his finger in a biscuit, pulled it out, poured in molasses, and took a big bite. Molasses rolled out over his hand. "That's pretty neat," he said, his mouth full, looking at the biscuit, almost half gone. He licked molasses off his hand. "What do you make these biscuits out of?"

"Buttermilk, Crisco, and flour. Easy. You want some coffee?"

"No." Wesley mopped molasses off his plate with a biscuit. "Can I have some more orange juice?"

Mattie got up and got the orange juice from the refrigerator and poured his glass full. "There you go." He could say something about the food, she thought. "How's the food?"

"Good. Real good."

"You have some trouble with your teeth, don't you?"

"My teeth?"

"Yeah. Don't you have teeth trouble."

"Yeah. But what the hell?"

Mattie put the carton of orange juice back in the refrigerator. "Well, the reason I asked is I might be able to help you get them fixed up. I know it's expensive and all, but if you'll go to a dentist and find out what it'll cost, I'll see if I can't help you out maybe. They can do all kinds of things these days to make your teeth look better. And they are one of your most important assets. Don't you think?"

"Yeah, I guess. I never thought about it. Except when I got a toothache."

"Did your mama or daddy or the orphanage or anybody ever take you to the dentist?"

"Hell, no." She knew about the damn orphanage, thought Wesley. She is my grandma. She just don't want to say so yet.

"Teeth make such a big difference, and you don't realize it until they start giving you trouble."

"I been realizing stuff all my life."

"Well, I've worked real hard all my life to keep mine up. You just didn't have as good a start as I did."

"I need a pickup more'n I need good teeth."

"Oh no you don't."

"I get me a pickup and I can earn a living and be fixing up my teeth for the rest of my life."

"You need to get started out on a solid footing with good teeth. It'll influence everything that happens from now on."

Wesley cleaned his plate with the remains of his biscuit. He reached for another biscuit. "I think I'll just have one more of these with some molasses."

He has a direct way about him, like Lamar, thought Mattie. It's like some good is in there somewhere—and just needs a chance to grow, spread out until it covers a little more of him. "You want me to cut your hair?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I sure do."

He probably hadn't ever said "ma'am" in his life. "Well, take your plate over to the sink when you're finished. Let me get the clippers and I'll do you sitting right there."

Mattie got a bed sheet from the bedroom closet.

Wesley took his plate to the sink and then sat back down. Hell, if I get new teeth, a haircut, some of them mirror sunglasses, won't nobody in the world know me. Hell,
I
won't even know me.

"I can take another bath and wash the hair out," said Wesley.

"Not this morning."

"Why not?"

"You can't take another bath here until you learn the rules."

"What rules?"

"Bathroom rules: just a little bit of water and you clean up after yourself. Let's see," said Mattie, safety-pinning the sheet at the back of Wesley's neck. "I'll vacuum your head when I finish cutting."

"Vacuum?"

"Yes."

After Mattie cut with scissors, she used the electric barber clippers that Paul had bought when he went to barber school. After barber school he began working at the cigarette factory. Then he bought the Listre Hardware from Alvin Terrill and spent forty years running it, always sitting at home in the mornings, reading the paper, not talking to anybody unless it was to tell them to be quiet or to bring him something. Sometimes Mattie wondered if Paul had really had to be that way. And then he often got home late at night after she'd finished helping the kids with their homework.

"Here, let me put the clippers to these little tufts of hair on your face."

"Leave the mustache."

"Oh, I didn't see it."

Mattie cut the sprouts of hair with the electric clippers. Wesley followed the clippers with his eyes, holding his head very still.

Mattie had helped Robert and Elaine with their homework until they were so far along she didn't know what they were doing, had no idea of what the questions and problems meant even after she'd read the assignment herself. This boy probably never got that far. She remembered leaving their books and confusing questions, and looking through their closets to find something that needed sewing, a missing button, a hem, a pocket, and while they fretted with the homework, she would sew their clothes.

And she wondered if any of that could somehow explain why they never got married, leaving her no grandchildren to care for, no grandchildren to accompany her into the black future, grandchildren with the blood of her uncles Fred, Hudson, and Smiley, her aunts Thelma, Lola, Terry, Okie, Bobbie, Chloe, her mother, her father. If her mother could only have lived for Elaine and Robert to meet and talk to. She could have somehow shown them, convinced them that having a family was more important than anything in the world, more important than anything on earth. Did that make sense? It did make sense. If it were between Elaine living with no children and dying while having one who lived—that would be a tough choice—if that baby were to be the family's only survivor. Well, of course she'd pick Elaine. She shouldn't even think about that, but then again maybe she should think about it. After all, through the blood is the only way you really can give of your true self—the self that is in your blood and that has been there since Adam, that stream of blood flowing unbroken since Adam and Eve, winding through those brambles and ditches and deserts and jungles and wars and famines—in her family's case, to now end with the death of the children of Mattie Rigsbee. There must be some other way to think about it, Mattie thought. Here's a young man I can do something for, if not in blood, in spirit. Jesus talked about the spirit too.