Forbidden Fruit (8 page)

G
lory stopped at the library door, looked over her shoulder to make sure her mother wasn't anywhere about, then ducked inside, partially shutting the door behind her. She tiptoed across the floor, heading toward the shelves containing the
forbidden
books, the ones her mother had made strictly off limits.

And now she knew why.

She reached the wall of books, glanced behind her one last time, then tipped her head back, scanning the titles on the fourth shelf.
Art Through The Ages; The Postimpressionists; Pierre Auguste Renoir: The Last Years; Michelangelo.

Glory stopped on the last. Her grand-mère had called Michelangelo the greatest sculptor of the human form ever. She would bet that book contained what she was looking for. Now, all she had to do was figure out how she was going to get it off the shelf.

She looked around her, eyebrows drawn together in thought. The library ladder was on the opposite wall; the two chairs, big, old leather things, were too heavy for her to move by herself, the sofa too big to even contemplate.

“Darn,” she muttered. “What to do?”

Her gaze lighted on the brass wastepaper basket in the corner. She crossed to it and plucked out the wadded papers, then carried it across the room. She set it upside down in front of the shelf, then climbed onto it. She stretched; the wastebasket wobbled; the book remained out of her reach. Bracing herself with one hand, she stood on tiptoe and reached her other hand as high as she could. She still didn't come close.

“Darn,” she said again, this time loudly, forgetting stealth.

From behind her came a yawn and the creak of leather. Glory gasped and swiveled, nearly toppling the basket and herself. Danny Cooper, the housekeeper's six-year-old grandson stared sleepily at her over the top of one of the leather wingbacks.

She glared at him, her heart still racing. “You about scared me to death. What are you doing in here?”

“Staying out of the way.” He yawned again. “Mom had to go to the doctor and Grandma said to be good. She's always telling me that when I'm here. I wanted to play, but I couldn't find you.”

“Mama has a headache this morning. grand-mère took me out for
beignets.
”

He rested his chin on top of the chair back. “You want to go play?”

Glory tipped her head, studying the six-year-old. She and Danny had played together since he was a toddler, and although he was too young to call her best friend, secretly she thought of him that way.

She hopped off the wastebasket. “I've got a better idea. Can you keep a secret?”

“You bet.” He nodded, punctuating his answer.

“I need you to help me get one of those books.” She pointed toward the books on the fourth shelf.

He lowered his voice to a whisper. “How come?”

She looked to her left, then to her right. “grand-mère,” she said in an exaggerated whisper, “took me to the art museum yesterday. And I saw something that—” Her cheeks heated, and she shook her head. “Anyway, when I asked grand-mère about it, she turned red and said we had to go home. And we had just gotten there, too.”

He lifted his gaze to the shelf of art books. “What you saw is in those books?”

“Uh-huh.” She followed his gaze. “And I want to see it again.”

“I can get Granny to help.”

“No!” Glory held out her hands to stop him. “You can't.” She brought a finger to her lips and tiptoed over to him. “I'm not supposed to see
those
books. They're
forbidden.
”

“Oh.” His eyes twinkled. “Can I see, too?”

“I'll let you see, if you'll help me. But you have to keep it a secret. Can you?”

He nodded solemnly. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“If we're caught, we'll get in trouble. Big trouble.” At the thought of her mother discovering her disobedience, a quiver of fear moved through her. Glory caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and glanced at the partially closed library door. Her mother had not gotten up that morning; she never did when she had one of her headaches. Most times, when she had one of her headaches, Glory didn't see her until dinner. Sometimes not even then.

Reassured, she returned her gaze to Danny's. She tipped up her chin in challenge. “Can you handle that?”

He straightened and puffed out his narrow chest. “If you can, I can.”

“Good.” Glory rubbed her hands together. “The first thing we need to do is to move this chair over to the shelves. If we both push, I'll bet we can do it.”

He climbed off the chair and together, giggling, they alternately pushed and pulled it across the room. They parked the chair directly underneath the Michelangelo book; Glory climbed up and a moment later, she closed her fingers over it.

The volume was large and heavy; Glory very nearly couldn't get it off the shelf. She wiggled it to the edge, then lost her grip and it crashed to the floor, making a huge racket. Glory's heart skipped a beat. She looked at Danny, he looked at her. They both turned toward the library door, half-frozen with the certainty that they were about to be found out.

One moment became many, and finally Glory was able to draw an even breath. She held a finger to her lips, then scrambled off the chair to retrieve the book. She opened it, flipped through, and found what she had been seeking. The sculpture was called
David;
he had curly hair and a pretty face.

And he was naked.

Cheeks burning, she lowered her eyes, almost afraid of what she might—or might not—see. But there it was, at the top of the man's thighs, like pieces of rolled-up fruit or a cannoli.

Glory narrowed her eyes, studying. It looked so weird, so strange and out of place. She touched the photograph lightly, both intrigued and repelled. Did all men look like this? Did all men have a cannoli between their legs?

“No fair!” Danny craned his neck. “Let me see…let me see.”

Glory tore her gaze from the strange and beautiful image, though it took great effort. “Are you sure you're old enough?”

He lifted his chin. “If you are, I am.”

“I'm two years older than you.”

“But I'm a boy.”

She glared up at him. “Big whip. I'm still older than you are.”

He stuck out his lower lip. “You promised.”

“Oh, all right. But don't blame me.” Glory handed him the book. He looked at the page, his expression blank. “What?”

“That,” she said, reaching up and pointing.

He tipped his head, studying the image. “What?” he said again.

Cheeks on fire, Glory stood on tiptoe and pointed to the exact place in question, the rolled kernels of flesh at the apex of the man's thighs. “That!”

“You mean, his penis?”

Glory stared at him aghast. A penis? It was called a penis?

“I have one, too. All boys do.”

All boys had a…penis. Dumbfounded, she climbed back onto the chair and took the book from Danny's hands. Admittedly, she'd had little contact with boys. She attended an all-girls school, and other than Danny and a couple of distant cousins, she had never been allowed to spend time alone with boys.

Her mother had told her that was because nice girls didn't associate with boys. But Glory knew that other boys and girls went to school together, that they played together. She had seen them over the estate wall, she had seen them get on the streetcar together, had seen them riding their bicycles, side by side, down the avenue. And she had listened to the other girls at school talk, girls who she had always thought were nice.

Glory frowned. But still, it smarted that little Danny, just out of kindergarten, was privy to this
important
information. It smarted, too, that he acted so casual about it, as if
everyone
knew about penises. Everyone but her, that was.

Danny was a boy, Glory remembered suddenly.
That's
why he knew. He probably had no idea what girls had. She drew herself up to her full forty-eight inches and told him so.

“Girls have vaginas,” he said, nodding his head for emphasis.

She made a choked sound. “How do you know that?”

“My mom told me. Boys have penises, girls have vaginas. That's the way God made us, special and unique.”

She drew her eyebrows together, confused and annoyed. “Then, it's not a secret?”

“Heck, no.” He shook his head. “Everybody knows about 'em. Well, almost everybody,” he amended. “And my friend Nathan, he calls his penis a hooter.”

“Hooter,” she repeated, trying to adjust to all this new information. Why, she wondered, had her mother kept this from her? And why, when she had pointed to the man's penis at the museum and asked about it, had her
grand-mère
acted so weird, then dragged her off? It made no sense.

Glory looked at Danny, an idea coming to her. “Can I see yours?” she asked, surprising herself. “I mean, I've never seen a…a penis before.” The word felt strange on her tongue, and she blushed. “If you show me your penis, I'll show you my vagina.”

“I don't know,” he said, pursing his lips. “You might make fun of me. An' what if we get caught?”

She shook her head. “I wouldn't make fun, I promise. You're my friend, and that wouldn't be nice. And we're not going to get caught. I just want to see.”

He thought a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”

He pulled down his shorts and underpants. Glory made a sound of surprise and crouched in front of him to get a better look. He
did
have one. But it looked different than the one in the art book, and not like fruit or a cannoli at all. She narrowed her eyes and leaned closer, studying it. It was much smaller. And bumpier. Like a bumpy little cocktail frank.

A horrified gasp broke the quiet. Glory jerked her head up. Her mother stood in the doorway, her face pinched and white, her eyes wide and wild-looking. Even from across the room, Glory could see that she was shaking.

Glory swallowed hard, fear rising in her like a tidal wave. The book slid from her hands and hit the floor, falling open to the naked
David.
“Mama, I didn't—”

“Whore,” her mother interrupted, advancing on her. “Dirty, little slut.”

Glory shook her head. She had only ever seen her mother look at her this way deep in the night, while she stood beside the bed staring down at her. She had never heard her speak those words before. They sounded ugly and they frightened her.

“Mama,” she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks, “I wasn't doing anything. I didn't mean—”

Hope grabbed Glory's arm and yanked her off the chair. Glory landed on her knees, and her mother jerked her upright. Pain shot through her shoulder, and she cried out.

At her cry, Hope's rage seemed to escalate instead of diminish. She closed her hands around Glory's upper arms and shook her so hard her teeth rattled. “I will not allow such pernicious behavior in my house! Do you hear me? It's evil and dirty. I will not allow it!”

“Mama…I didn't mean to. I didn't…it was Danny's idea…He made me do it…he made me…Please, Mama…please…”

Danny, his shorts down around his thighs, began to cry, too, loud wails of despair.

Mrs. Cooper rushed into the library. “Madam, what's—” She stopped, taking in the scene, her expression dismayed. “Oh, dear,” she said, hurrying forward. “Danny, love, what have you yourself gotten into?”

Danny's tears became howls. “Didn't do it, Granny! Wasn't me! Wasn't!”

Hope spun around, her hand raised as if to slap him. Mrs. Cooper darted between them. She pulled up Danny's pants and gathered him into her arms. “Calm down, Mrs. St. Germaine. Children will be children. They were merely curious and no harm's been done.”

“Get out!” Hope raged. “And take that…vile little beast with you. I never want to see either of you again. Is that clear?”

Mrs. Cooper reeled back, her expression stunned. “But, madam, certainly you don't mean—”

“But I do.” She took a step toward the older woman, eyes narrowed. “Get out, now. Get out, for
‘God's servant is an agent of wrath to bring punishment on the wrongdoer. With eyes like blazing fire, he will strike down her children.'
”

Mrs. Cooper paled. She took another step back, then turned and ran, Danny howling in her arms. Glory watched them go, a sense of horror stealing over her. This time, she had done something really bad. This time, her mother wouldn't forgive her. Not ever. She began to shake.

Her mother turned to her, her expression suddenly, terrifyingly calm. “Now then, Glory, come with me.”