The Darkest Child (21 page)

thirty - four

T
he schoolyear began on the same day the county fair opened its gates to the Negro population. It wasn’t the best of days. I walked to and from school with Laura, who spoke very little going and not at all coming back.We arrived home to find Edna waiting for us on the front porch, and I wondered what it had been like for her alone all day with Mama.

Mama was sitting on the floor of the front room when the three of us went inside. She wore a white dress with purple polka dots. Her shoes were off and her stockings were twisted about her legs. She was drunk. On the floor surrounding her were scattered bills of small denominations.Three five-dollar bills stuck out from the side of her right fist. She raised that fist and shook it at us.

“This here is cursed money,” she said. “It ain’t no good. Ain’t worth the paper it’s printed on. Cursed money that the white man won’t even touch.”

When Tarabelle and Wallace came home, Tarabelle stopped and peered down at the bills. “How much money you got there, Mama?” she asked.

“Don’t matter,” Mama said. “It ain’t no good. It won’t get my baby outta jail.” Her words were slurred, and her head seemed to favor her left shoulder.

“Is it counterfeit?”Tarabelle asked, reaching down to examine one of the bills.

Mama drew up a leg, then kicked her foot at Tarabelle in a slow, half-hearted effort.“Don’t touch it,” she said.“Ain’t counterfeit. It’s cursed. Everything that boy touch is cursed.”

“Mama, can we see if they’ll take it at the fair?”Wallace asked. “They’ll be in another county before they figure out it’s counterfeit.”

“Ain’t counterfeit,” Mama repeated. Her head rolled to the right, and she dropped the money from her hand and forced out a sob. “Tangy Mae, I want you to cook up some greens and take ’em down to Sam.Throw about five or six neck bones in the pot. I don’t think they feeding him, and they wouldn’t let me see him but ten minutes.”

“Where you get all that money?”Tarabelle asked.

Mama struggled to her knees, holding onto an armchair to balance herself.“Ain’t you been listening to me, Tarabelle? I got it from that damn Velman Cooper. Fifty dollars I got here, and it ain’t worth fifty cents.They can’t even prove Sam done nothing. I don’t understand why they keeping my baby.”

“Can I have a dollar of yo’ money, Mama?”Wallace asked.“To go to the fair?”

“Is that all you can think about? Yeah, you take yo’self a dollar, and get on outta my sight. And you make sho’ it ain’t nothing but a dollar.”

Wallace picked up a dollar and held it out for Mama to see.“It’s just a dollar,” he said, “but what about Laura and Edna? Ain’t they going, too?”

“Wallace, you trying to tell me all y’all can’t ride off a dollar? You take ’em wit’ you and make sho’ they get a ride. Now, don’t say nothing else to me.You oughta be shame of yo’self, anyhow. Tangy Mae, pick that money up!”

I dropped to my knees, gathered the bills together, and gave them to her.With her chin now resting against her chest, she thumbed through the bills and dealt out a dollar to me. “You share this wit’Tarabelle,” she said. “All y’all go on to that damn fair and just forget about Sam. I’m his mother. I’m the one s’pose to do the worrying. Gone now, get on outta my sight.”

Out on the road Tarabelle kicked a tire on Mama’s car. “She coulda took us,” she said angrily. “I ain’t been in that car since she got it.You’d think she could drive me over to East Grove sometimes, but she won’t.And every time I get paid, she right there taking my money.”

“I ain’t been in it, neither, ”Wallace said. “It don’t matter to me. I’m gon’ get my own car and my own house.”

“You ain’t even got no job, Wallace, ”Tarabelle shot back. “You done quit school saying you was gon’ get one, and you ain’t even looked. I wish somebody in that house would do something, besides me. I’m sick of y’all, and I don’t wanna go to no damn fair, smelling pig shit and going ’round in circles on some ol’ stupid ride.”

“Then don’t go,” I said.“You don’t have to go.”

“I ain’t going.” She stopped, flipped a hand in my direction, and said, “Tan, you give me my dollar.”

“Our dollar,” I corrected.

“My dollar.You think I don’t know ’bout that money you hide in yo’ sock? You got money, Tan. I’m the one work every day and half the night, and you walking ’round wit’ money in yo’ sock when I ain’t got a penny. Give me my dollar, and I don’t wanna have to break yo’ arm to get it.”

“Here,” I said.“Take the doggone thing if it’ll make you happy.” “It ain’t gon’ make me happy. But maybe I wanna strut around awhile wit’ money in my sock.Maybe I wanna know how it feels. Huh?”

She snatched the dollar from my hand, and as I glared at her unchanging expression, it occurred to me that she was right. She worked every day and never had a penny to show for it. My anger evaporated.

“Wallace, take the girls on,” I said.“I’ll catch up to you in a bit.”

“Okay, ”Wallace answered, “but you might not. If I see somebody going that way in a car, I’m gon’ catch a ride.”

The fairground was quite some distance away, located on a stretch of land between the flats and North Ridge. For the sake of the girls, I hoped Wallace could catch a ride.Maybe later I’d be able to catch one myself, but for now I wanted to talk to Tarabelle. I turned to find her watching me.

“Are you going back to sit with Mama?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Nah. I ain’t in no mood to listen to her carry on ’bout nothing. She ain’t that worried ’bout Sam nohow. All she worried ’bout is money.”

“Well, what are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know.” She began to walk, and I followed.“I’m so tired, Tan, I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I feel like I could sleep for a week.”

“Go back home.You don’t have to listen to Mama. She’s probably asleep by now, and if she’s not, you can just pretend she’s not there.”

“How?”

“Just close her out. I do it all the time. I just think of something else until I can’t hear what she’s saying.”

“Yeah? Well, that’s easy for you. Everything is easy for you.You ain’t got nothing else to do. I got that big fat white lady to worry ’bout. She big as the house, and now she stay home every day wit’ me, trying to tell me how to run things.Then she whine and carry on, wanting me to always rub her back. I be washing clothes, she say rub her back. I be washing dishes, she say rub her back. I can’t hardly get my work done for all time stopping and rubbing her back. Some people just ought not have babies.”

We reached the top of Fife, and continued on. I did not see Wallace, and assumed he had caught a ride. As we neared town, Tarabelle stopped and studied the road, as if deciding what to do.

“Might as well go to the fair,” she said. “You gon’ be running ’round wit’ that boy when we get there?”

“If I see him.”

She grunted and smacked her lips in distaste, but said nothing. We reached Market Street, then crossed the railroad tracks and turned north at Erwin in the direction of the flats.

“Wanna stop by and see if Martha Jean wants to come?” I asked.

Tarabelle glanced at me.“Why you scared to be by yo’self?” she asked. “Only time you ever by yo’self is when you reading them books, and even then you make silly faces and talk to yo’self.”

“Why do
you
always want to be alone?” I countered.“You never do anything with anybody, except Mattie.”

“Mattie. I was wondering when you’d get around to bringing her up.You jealous, ain’t you?”

“No. I was at first, but I’m not now,” I answered truthfully.

“I knew you was. Mattie is different. She ain’t like everybody else who all time laughing when I say things that ain’t funny. She know when to laugh and when not to.”

“I think she is afraid of you.”

“She ain’t scared of me,” Tarabelle said, then grunted. “She oughta be, though, but she ain’t. She the only friend I ever had.All y’all always had friends, ’cept me. I thought something was wrong wit’ me.Did you know that, Tan? I ain’t friendly like Mushy. I ain’t smart like you. And I ain’t pretty like Martha Jean. I ain’t never knew what I was s’pose to be. Then Mattie wanted to be my friend. She liked me better than she did you. I knew you’d be mad, but I didn’t care. It’s time for me to have friends, too.”

Jack Crothers drove by in his truck, slowed, and asked if we wanted a lift.We declined and continued on, in no rush to get to the fair.We strolled by Skeeter’s house and I purposely avoided glancing in that direction. I was captivated by this loquacious side of Tarabelle, by her having taken me into her confidence.

“Sometimes, Tan, I be walking to work and I go by that creek. I be thinking ’bout walking right on out in it. Then I think the water ain’t gon’ cover my head, and I’m just gon’ be wet and look stupid and won’t even be dead.You ever think about dying?” she asked.“When Judy died, I wished it was me.”

“Why do you wanna die, Tara?” I asked. “I wanna live to get old—older than Miss Janie. I wanna do things.”

“Ain’t nothing to do.And anyway, I’m too tired to do anything. Sometimes I think I won’t take another breath, but then I do, and I don’t even know why.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t feel that way if you could get out of Pakersfield. If Mama hadn’t torn up your ticket and you could have left, maybe you wouldn’t feel that way.”

Tarabelle blew a quick breath through pursed lips. “Shoot,” she said, “Pakersfield ain’t got nothing to do wit’ nothing. I’m glad Mama did it. First, I was mad, but after I thought about it, I didn’t even care. I don’t wanna go nowhere and live wit’ Mushy. She just like Mama. Just like her.”

Outside the Tates’ house, Miss Dorothy was putting a lot of energy into sweeping down her four wooden steps. She did not wave or speak as we neared her, but glared at us with reproachful eyes.

Tarabelle stepped from the walk and crossed the yard until she was standing at the foot of the steps. She glared up at Dorothy Tate, and shouted, “You mad! You mad ’cause you can’t do nothing wit’ that ol’ drunk husband of yours. I wish you’d come on down here trying to start something wit’ me. I’ll break that broom over yo’ neck.You hear me, Miss Dorothy? I’ll break that goddamn broom ’cross yo’ neck.”

Dorothy Tate slowly backed up the steps, then closed the screen door behind her. She was probably as shocked by Tarabelle’s language as I was, but for once, I understood. I remembered the night Melvin Tate and Crow had brought Mama and Tarabelle home. Miss Dorothy must have known about it, too. She held her broom steady, and watched my sister from behind the safety of the screen. I had the impression that Miss Dorothy did not want to fight, but she would if Tarabelle was stupid enough to break through the screen.

I stepped into the yard and grabbed Tarabelle’s hand, but she snatched it from my grip, and remained where she was until Miss Dorothy disappeared from the door. Finally, she returned to the walk. She was breathing hard and walking fast.

“Tan, do you know what I do when I go out wit’ Mama?” she asked.

“I didn’t at first,” I said, “but I think I do now.”

“Mama think people don’t know,” she said angrily, “but everybody know. I can tell the way they look at me that they know.They look at me like I’m dirt—like they better not get too close.”

We left Motten Street and crossed Atler Avenue, hearing for the first time the sounds of the fair.We stopped at the wire fence that surrounded the grounds, and Tarabelle leaned against a pole and stared straight ahead at the crowd. I glanced along the rows of parked cars, searching for Jeff ’s father’s car.

“I don’t think I wanna go in there, ”Tarabelle said, after a minute of looking.“You gon’ be running ’round wit’ that boy?”

“I don’t have to,” I answered.

“I done been knocked up before, fooling ’round wit’ men,” she said.“Mama took me to Miss Pearl, and she got that baby out my belly wit’ a wire hanger. Hurt real bad, too. They made me drink corn whiskey in orange juice. It taste awful—worse than cast’oil. Then Miss Pearl scraped that baby out. Never was no real baby no how—just blood and mess . . . and pain.”

Rapid puffs of breath escaped my mouth, and my heart pounded as though I had been running long and hard. My face felt warm, and my head light. I braced myself against the pole, unable to speak.People passed, spoke, and waved with no idea that innocence had sloughed from my body and lay in a heap at my feet.

“How did you know a baby was there?” I asked, when I was able to speak. “I never saw you gain weight or anything.”

“You don’t get fat ’til later. First the curse stops, then you start to be sick, and you be tired from throwing up all the time.”

“Oh,” I said, and did not know what else to say.

“You go on now, Tan, ”Tarabelle said. “I’m gon’ stay here ’til I make up my mind what I wanna do.”

Disengaging myself from the pole, I tramped slowly along the gravel shoulder beside the fence until I reached the ticket booth, then I glanced back at Tarabelle. She was standing motionless, like a sign of despair mounted to a post, and I could not leave her like that. I retraced my steps.

“Tarabelle,” I said, barely above a whisper, “you said you never knew what you were supposed to be.Well, you’re brave.You’re the bravest child our mother has.”

She moved then, and her eyes seemed to bore right through me. “You really think so, Tan?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.You go on now. Go on to the fair.”

Moving across earth sprinkled with sawdust, and through air heavy with an assortment of aromas, I stepped out of a babbling crowd at the merry-go-round. Almost immediately someone touched my arm, and I glanced up to see Martha Jean. She was holding a cone of cotton candy and a small stuffed animal.Velman stood directly behind her.

“Hey,” he said.“We’re gonna get on this thing when it stops.You wanna ride?”

I shook my head.“No. I’m looking for Wallace. Have you seen him?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen him. He’s caught up to me about six times already, asking for a dime. Last time I saw him he was at the Ferris wheel, and the girls are over there wit’ Harvey and Carol Sue.” He pointed toward the funhouse.

I started in that direction, but he stopped me by placing a strong hand on my shoulder. “Hey, wait a minute,” he said.“We’re married, me and Martha Jean. Did you know?”