Like One of the Family (14 page)

Whenever things go kinda smooth-like, she takes time out to worry about the stockmarket and who's gonna be our next president! That poor woman has harried herself into the shadow of a wreck!

Marge, sometimes I think that all she would need to cure her is one good-sized real trouble. You know, like lookin' in your icebox and seein' nothin' but your own reflection! I guess she'd know what trial and trouble really was if she had a child with a toothache, no money, and a dispossess all at the same time! … That's what happened to Gloria last spring! … Sure, I guess Gloria cried a little but she took that child to the clinic, and then they moved with her brother for a while, and her brother only had four rooms for his wife and their four children!

… Sure, I remember the time you lost your uncle and he didn't have any insurance! And what about the time I had to send all my little savin's down home so that my niece could stay in college? You know everybody's so busy talkin' 'bout us gettin' into these schools 'til it never crosses their mind what a hard time we have stayin' there. It costs money!

I bet Mrs. B … would think twice about what trouble is if she had one dollar in the house and had to fix dinner for a bunch of kids like Mrs. Johnson who lives downstairs. She'd also think twice if
her
husband had lost his job 'cause the boss had to cut down and decided to let the colored go first.

… Marge, you may be right, perhaps their troubles are as real to them as ours are to us. I don't know about that though. I don't think I'd be goin' through the same miseries if I was in her shoes.

I've seen some trouble in my life, and I know that if I was to call up my aunt and tell her that I'd been too quiet all day or had a hang-over or didn't know whether to paint or write or something like that, she'd say, “Girl, are you out of your mind! Don't be botherin' me with no foolishness!”

W
ELL
, M
ARGE
, I
WENT
to church last Sunday…. No, the doors did not cave in on me! And if you're going to think up jokes, I wish you'd think of new ones. It's true that I don't go very often but you know most folks go 'round Christmas and Easter time, so I thought I would surprise my pastor by goin' a week early this time…. Oh, the sermon was so-so, and I saw a lot of friends that I hadn't seen in a long while, but wait until I tell you what happened just as I was leavin'!

The pastor caught up with me at the door and spoke out real loud, “My, it certainly has been a long time since we've seen you! What happened to you?” Now, in the past when he's done this I always told him some lie about bein' busy or sickly or some such tale as that, but all of a sudden I decided that I was goin' to let him in on the truth. I spoke out real plain: “I haven't been comin' to church because you ain't been sayin' anything whenever I do get here.” … Marge, he was some upset, and asked me to step into his study and explain what I meant…. Of course I did just that!

“Not meanin' any disrespect,” I said, “but every time you give a sermon, I find that you reach way back in the book and pick out a text about people bearin' up under a whole lot of misery that the
Lord
has visited upon them. For example, the last time I was here you told me all about Job's sores and boils, how all his children was killed off and a million and one other miseries, the whole object bein' how nicely he bore up under these things.” … Marge, he shook his head and said, “That's in the Bible, I'm sorry you didn't like the text.”

“Well, reverend,” I told him, “it's true that you are the one who gets to select the sermon, but I notice that it's almost always something about people bein' destroyed or cursed or something from Lamentations. And when I leave, it's always with the feelin' that I'm lucky to be breathin' and had better be thankful that I ain't any more miserable than I am.” … No, Marge, he wasn't offended, especially when I told him what I would like to hear.

“Reverend,” I said, “the Bible also tells us that Jesus did not act
meek
and
mild
and enjoy the fact that some folks were walkin' all over others. He raised his voice and spoke to crowds, told them that the rulers were puttin' heavy burdens on people's shoulders, devourin' widows' houses. He called Herod a fox and told the people they were livin' amongst a generation of vipers. He advised people to feed the hungry, take in the stranger, visit the prisoner. He told them there was no justice in the court, he accused the rich of misleadin' the people and seekin' high places for themselves. He taught the people to break bread in common brotherhood. He taught them ‘The kingdom on Earth as it is in Heaven.' And it was for teachin' and preachin' these things that he was hauled into court and charged with overthrowin' the Lord, the prophets, the religion of the land and settin' himself up as King. It was for these things that he was nailed to the cross. Today his message has become lost in stained-glass windows and mournful songs. The message of love, hope and forgiveness has been drowned out by false prophets screamin' about hell-fire and damnation and destruction.”

My pastor smiled a little and said, “I asked and you told me. You've said a great deal and I'll have to think about it a while.”

“Yes, reverend,” I said, “and if you could find it in your heart to preach a sermon like that it would make Sunday a day of real meaning and inspiration.”

And it would, wouldn't it, Marge?

G
IRL, PEOPLE HAVE GOT
some crust! Some folks' notion of what's
fair is
all out of whack, and it takes your friend Mildred to tell it! You know, Marge, I told you how I was sick and tired of runnin' from hither to yon in order to make a bare livin'? … That's right, days work can carry you all over town, workin' first for this one and then the other. There's some mornin's that it takes me a good five minutes to remember just where I'm goin' to work. So I decided to try steady time once more and look me up a permanent place to work…. Yes, I got it out the newspaper and telephoned the lady before the print was dry.

Honey, you never heard such a interview as she put me through. You shoulda heard her! “Now, Mildred, why do you want this job?” Don't laugh, I know you want to but try and listen. Did you ever hear such a simple question? I could of told her the truth and make mention of that nasty word
money
, but I knew that would make her sad, so I said very prettily, “Because I'd like a nice steady job with a good family.”

Hot dog! I struck pay-dirt, her smile was the sunshine of a May afternoon. Sure she asked me some more things. I had to give her references, the name of my minister and my doctor, how long I worked in my last three places and how come this and why not that until we was both fair worn out with talk and more talk. Finally she seems all satisfied and made the summin' up, “I think you'll do just fine, and I hope we can make some satisfactory arrangement that'll make us both happy.” Marge, before I can get in a word about what'll make me happy she takes a sheet of paper out of her desk and starts readin' off how things will go. “Mildred,” she says, “on Monday you will report at eight o'clock in the mornin' and after the breakfast dishes you will do the washin'. Of course we have a machine,” “Naturally,” I says, then she starts runnin' her finger down this devilish list: “After the washin' you will take care of the children's lunch, prepare dinner, clean the baby's room
thoroughly
and leave after the supper dishes, that's Monday.” “So much for Monday,” I says, “and how about Tuesday?” “Well,” she says, “you don't come in until noon on Tuesday, then you fix the children's lunch, iron, give the kitchen a thorough cleaning, prepare dinner and leave after the supper dishes.” “Well,” I says, “here we are at Wednesday already.” “Yes,” she says, “on Wednesday you come in at eight in the mornin' and do all the floors, fix the children's lunch, do the mendin', give the foyer and the baths a thorough cleanin', prepare the dinner …” “… and leave after the supper dishes,” I says. “That's right,” she says, “and the schedule remains pretty much the same for the rest of the week; on Thursday you thoroughly clean the bedrooms, on Friday the livin' room, on Saturday the pantry shelves, silver, and clothes closets and on Sunday you fix early dinner and leave after one-thirty.”

Marge, I must have looked pure bewildered because she adds, “Do you have any comment?” “A little,” I says, “when is my off-time?” “Oh that,” she says. “Yes mam,” I says, and then she begins to run her finger down the list again. “Well, you have one half-day off every Tuesday and one half-day off every Sunday and every other Thursday you get a full day off, which makes it a five and a half day week.”

How 'bout that Marge! I was never too good at arithmetic, but I really had to tip my hat to her. Even somebody as smart as Einstein couldn't have figured nothin' as neat as that. Before I could get a word in on what I considered the deal of the year, she played her trump card, “I will pay you two weeks pay on the first and fifteenth of each month.” “But that way,” I says, “I lose a week's pay every time the month has five weeks,” Well, she repeats herself, “I pay on the first and fifteenth.”

No, Marge, you know I wasn't comin' on that! In the first place I could see me workin' myself into such a lather that there wouldn't be nothin' to do but crawl into the doctor's office on the first and fifteenth and give every blessed nickel I had in order that he could try and straighten me out in time to meet the second and the sixteenth. In the second place … oh, well, what's the use? You get the picture! I backed out of there so fast 'til I bet she's not sure that I was ever there.

But it set me to thinkin'. How come all of them big-shots in Washington that can't balance the budget or make the taxes cover all our expenses, how
come
they don't send for that woman to help straighten them out? Why, in two or three weeks she'd not only get everything on a payin' basis, but she'd have enough money left over to buy every citizen a free ice cream cone for the Fourth of July, not countin' all the loot we'd have left over to bury at Fort Knox! Genius like that just pure takes your breath away. It's almost beautiful in a disgustin' sort of way, ain't it?

M
ARGE, YOU CAN'T UNDERSTAND
anything if you don't get up and go in order to keep in the know…. Now, you take all this talk about Africa—what do you know about Africa? … That's right—nothin'! Or even worse than nothin' because we don't know anything but a pack of fancy lies.

All our education about Africa comes from bad moving pictures. You know how they show us bunches of “wild folk” goin' crazy and bein' et up by lions, tigers and snakes. We see pictures about Africans dancin' all day and drummin' all night … and ain't it funny, Marge, how the animal always eats the African and not the white man?

Yes, girl, I went to an African meetin' tonight. No, it wasn't given by African people, but it was all about Africa…. Well, the evenin' started out with speakers tellin' things about Africa and how Africans are different groups of people and not all one single thing…. Well, like in Europe—you know there's English, French, Italians and Germans but yet you can plainly hear how they are different even though these people are all Europeans…. That's right, there are even more groups of Africans than there are different Europeans.

Then someone explained all about African art and sculpture, and they showed us beautiful photographs of the things.

… No, Marge, we didn't get to see any of the real stuff. How could we when it's all in the British Museum?

Another speaker told us about history and slavery and all such as that, finally ending up with today and what's going on
now
. And believe me when I say
THINGS ARE POPPIN
'! …

Wait, Marge, don't get excited. Save that for later. It seems that the South Africans are breakin' the Jim Crow laws! … Just like if you was to walk in a Mississippi waitin' room, tear down the “white” sign and sit yourself down!
HOW 'bout THAT
A
FRICA
! … Oh, honey, thousands of 'em are doin' that in trains, in the parks and everywhere.

But what bugged me was the “discussion” they had at the meetin'. Marge, you should have been there to hear the people arguin' back and forth about “
WHAT THE
A
FRICAN WANTS
” and
“WHAT THE
A
FRICANS DON'T WANT
.” … Yes, that took up all the discussion time, and it kept battin' around from one person to the other: “The African wants this and not that” … and on and on it went….

All of a sudden I jumped straight up and hollered,
“There ain't no mystery about that! Africans want to be free!
… How in the devil can you sit and hear how they're starved, whipped, kept out of schools, jailed and shot down and then ask
WHAT
the African wants?” … I went right on…. “You folks been talkin' so uppity 'bout ‘Are Africans fit to govern themselves?' … ‘are they educated enough?' and all such trash…. Let me tell you one thing,” I says: “If
educated
folk can't do anything but jail, whip, starve and abuse, what in the devil makes you think
they
are anything but
unfit
to rule!”

Yes, I did! … I squared right off: “There's two schools of thought over there: One says
privileges for white folk alone
, while the other says
FREEDOM FOR ALL
.” I shook my fist at them, Marge.
“Shame, shame, shame!”
I cried.