Then Sings My Soul Page 11

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, have you graduated from high school yet? Are you planning to stay with your two friends or are you going to strike out on your own? You got talent, you know."

  "How do you know? You never heard me sing alone," I asked, feeling bold and relaxed.

  "I can tell. I'm a musician, remember? I heard your voice. If you decide to go it alone, give me a ring. Maybe we can work something out."

  Just then the song ended and just like that, Hi C. was gone.

  Suddenly I heard shouting and a loud crash. Everybody rushed toward the kitchen.

  "You betta get your friend out of here before I kick her head in. Don't nobody be messing with my woman."

  I pushed through this circle of people and saw Gracie pulling Kanisha by the arm. Her hair was all messed up and her dress was torn. Blood seeped from the corner of her mouth.

  Gracie saw me. "Come on, Tricia. Help me get Kanisha out of here." Kanisha didn't protest. She didn't say anything while Gracie went back in to find the drummer and get him to take us back to the parking lot where Gracie left her car. He was mad, but he drove us back to the club, running a couple of red lights and a few stop signs. I was grateful to get back in one piece.

  We got Kanisha to her apartment. As Gracie drove me home, I asked her what happened.

  "Kanisha was in the kitchen talking to some chick. Next thing I know, the chick's boyfriend comes in and socks Kanisha."

  "Just for talking to her?" I asked. It didn't make sense to me.

  "Well, maybe they were doing more than talking," Gracie said. "You know how Kanisha is."

  I knew Kanisha preferred women to men. It was no big deal to me as long as she didn't try to hit on me. When we stopped in front of my apartment building, Gracie reached into her purse and handed me $20.00. "That's for tonight's gig. That SOB made twenty times that but that's all I could get out of him. At least we don't have to split it with Harry."

  I put the bill away. "Every little bit helps," I said as I shut her car door.

  "See you tomorrow. Rehearsal’s at seven." She waved as she pulled away from the curb. I felt tired but the excitement of singing in a nightclub was still with me.

  I stopped humming one of Big Jim's songs as I opened the apartment door. It was 1 AM and I was surprised to see the kitchen light on. I tiptoed to the kitchen and stepped back in shock. Momma was sitting at the table, a stack of bills beside her, and she was thumbing through a small book.

  Chapter 25 -Ma'dear

  Willie Joe was dead. It was the darkest day of my life. How could a man die before he reached thirty years old? One day he seemed to be the healthiest man alive and the next day, he was lying in a hospital bed taking his last breath. The doctors couldn't find nothing wrong with him, nothing that was causing him to lose so much weight. Food wouldn't stay on his stomach. He just wasted away.

  I didn't have long to grieve, though, because a few days after I buried him, Melvin was born. He was the spitting image of his father. I stayed off from work for as long as I could, but I had bills to pay. I asked a neighbor lady to look after baby Melvin while I went to work. For months all I did was go to work, come home, and just sit by the window and stare down at the street, thinking about Willie Joe.

  Then I got a letter from my mama. She wrote me and told me to come home. I didn't realize how pitiful I looked or how I'd let everything go until I took the Greyhound back home to Farmville.

  "You better get yourself together. You got a child to raise," Mama said to me one day. "First thing you should do is get out of that place where you and Willie Joe lived. Too many memories. Then you should fix yourself up and start living again."

  "I just need a little more time," I told her.

  "Child, sitting around here ain't getting you nowhere. Go on back to New York and start living again."

  After a few weeks in the South, I felt strong enough to leave. I left my baby with Mama and took the bus back to New York. I'd been gone so long I lost my job. Didn't matter 'cause cleaning jobs weren't that hard to find. After a week of looking, I found another job cleaning up buildings at night. During the day, I worked as a nurses' aid in St. Vincent's Hospital downtown. I don't know how I did it, but I managed to save enough money to look for another place. I found a small kitchenette over on 143rd St. and 8th Avenue in Harlem. It was little more than a room with a Murphy bed, a half kitchen, and bathroom. The rent was something I could afford. It would suit me until I had enough money to go back down south and get my baby.

  I went back to our old place to clear out Willie Joe's and my belongings. In the year we'd been there we'd accumulated a few things. The apartment was furnished, so mostly I just had to get rid of his clothes and pack mine up. My friend, Esther came over to help me. Willie Joe and I used to play cards with her and her husband and every now and then, we would go to the picture show. She was real helpful to me when Willie Joe got sick.

  One thing about Esther, though, was that she was very superstitious. She believed in spirits and ghosts and was always talking about stuff like that. Herman, her husband, would always tell her she was a fool. Willie Joe would just laugh. I tried to laugh at it but it scared me half to death.

  When Willie Joe started losing weight and acting funny, Esther said somebody had put a spell on him. I didn't believe her. One day she made me so mad I told her not to come round no more. And she didn't. We'd pass each other on the stairs and hardly speak. She and Herman moved away about a month before Willie Joe passed. She showed up at his funeral. I don't know how she knew he had died, but I was grateful.

  On the day I went to clean out the old apartment, I ran into her on the street. I told her I was getting ready to move and she asked if she could help. Sure, I said. I needed the company. We packed up my things in boxes. She said she knew some people she could give Willie Joe's clothes to. Then we started to clean up. She swept the floor, while I wiped down the woodwork and washed the windows. Just when I thought we was through, I remembered I hadn't emptied the water from under the icebox. I got down on my knees and grabbed hold of the tray and pulled. It was filled with water so I was careful as I pulled it out.

  Something else was in that tray besides water. It was a dirty brown sack no bigger than a small egg tied up with a string. I dumped out the water in the sink and took the bag over to Esther.

  "Now what could this be?" I held the sack up to her. Water dripped from it. Esther stopped sweeping and leaned over to get a closer look.

  "Child, where'd you find that?" she shouted, jumping back and wiping her hands on her apron. "Get some newspaper and wrap that thing up. Don't throw it away. Looks like the work of the devil."

  Suddenly I felt a chill run down my spine. "Esther, you scaring me." I did what she said.

  "I know a lady over on 8th Ave. Let's take that thing over to her."

  We left everything in the middle of the floor. I wrapped the sack in newspaper, put it inside a shopping bag and followed Esther to a building on 8th Ave. We walked up the steps and into the dark hallway. On the second floor she stopped and looked around.

  "Just wait a minute until my eyes adjust to this darkness. I can't see the numbers on the doors." She peered at each number and then she knocked on the next to the last door. I heard a woman's voice yell, "Who is it?"

  "Esther Garvey," Esther answered.

  "Just a minute, Esther. I'll be right with you."

  The door opened and there stood a skinny woman who didn't look much older than me. She had a scarf tied around her head and an apron covering a yellow cotton dress. Her complexion was the color of sage honey. Freckles sprinkled across her nose.

  "Come on in," she smiled. "I was just cooking me up some dinner. Would you like something to eat?"

  She must have been from the West Indies. Her accent was thick and welcoming. Esther introduced us. "We can't stay long, Madame LaFontaine. We want you to take a look at this."

  Esther handed Madame LaFontaine the shopping bag. After peering into it, Ma
dame reached into the bag, carefully took out the newspaper holding it between her thumb and fore-finger, and placed it on a nearby table. It seemed like she took forever to unwrap it. She examined the muslin bag without touching it; bending over the sack, she sniffed at it. Then she looked up at me, wiping her hands on her apron. The smile she had when she first greeted us was gone. She told us to have a seat on her sofa. "Tell me what's been happening?" She asked as she sat down opposite us.

  I told her about Willie Joe. When I finished, she said, "Somebody's been working roots on you and your husband."

  "Didn't I tell you that when Willie Joe was alive," Esther said. "But you didn't believe me."

  I felt like somebody had taken my breath away. I gasped for air. Madame put her hand on my shoulder.

  "You want a glass of water, honey?"

  I couldn't think of who or why anyone would want to do anything to me and Willie Joe. I told her this.

  "Is it over?" I asked, hoping she would tell me that it was.

  "Not as long as you got this thing her." She pointed to the muslin bag. "Bad luck," she murmured rubbing some kind of oil on her hands and opening the bag carefully. Inside was a chicken bone, a piece of hair, Willie Joe's or mine, I couldn't tell, and a dirty napkin rolled up in a ball.

  "Can you take the spell off?" Esther asked Madame.

  "I can't take it off, but I can turn it around to the person who put the spell on you. Who was it? Think hard."

  "No. I don't know of anybody who would do this." I couldn't think. I just wanted to get out of there.

  "Well, when you know who it was, you come see me again. I can turn the spell around, but it's gonna cost you."

  I nodded. This wasn't real. I was having a nightmare. Nothing made sense.s

  "Have Esther bring you back when you got the money."

  Esther helped me up. I must have been in a trance because I don't remember going back to the apartment. She talked the whole time, but I don't remember what she said. We finished cleaning up the place and after she helped me load my boxes into Willie Joe's old car, she gave me her number. I drove over to my new place, unpacked, and tried to sleep.

  Chapter 26 - Hazel

  "$10,000. Momma, we're rich!" Shanell shouted.

  "Be quiet, girl, before you wake your grandmother."

  "Where'd you get all that money?" Tricia wanted to know.

  "It's not my money." Hazel pointed to the stack of envelopes beside her. "It's Donald's. I opened his mail."

  "Why would people be sending him money like that?" Shanell asked. "And to think it's been sitting around here all this time."

  "What are you going to do with it?" Tricia stifled a yawn. "You can't keep it."

  "I don't plan to keep it. I can't get a hold of Donald. I'm just not sure what to do with it."

  "What's this?" Shanell picked up the little black book that was almost hidden beneath the envelopes. She flipped through the pages. "It's full of numbers."

  Tricia looked over her shoulder.

  Looks like Donald's little black book, thought Hazel. She'd heard of men keeping little black books with all the numbers of women they slept with.

  Tricia grabbed it. "Let me see if our number is in it." After leafing through the pages, she handed it to her mother.

  "It's way past bed time," said Hazel, glancing up at the clock. "You all go to bed. I'm gonna put this money away. Tomorrow I'll try to get hold of Donald and find out what's going on."

  In the excitement of discovering the money, they'd forgotten to ask her about her meeting with him at the pier several hours earlier. She was glad, because she didn't want to worry them. Shanell stretched and yawned as she followed Tricia to their bedroom. "See you in the morning, Mom," they whispered as they left.

  Hazel looked around the kitchen for a place in which to hide the money. Her eyes landed on a small door above the cabinets. Unless you knew it was there, you'd never notice it. She'd discovered it one day when she was cleaning and wondered why anyone would build a door so high up and as far as she could tell at the time, completely useless.

  She picked up the black book and flipped through the pages. They didn't look like telephone numbers, just page after page of letters and numbers that made no sense to her. Taking a manila envelope from the drawer, she stuffed the book and money in it. Climbing up on the kitchen stool, she opened the door and tossed the envelope inside. She looked around the kitchen one last time; satisfied, she turned off the lights and went to bed.

  The next morning the sun streaming though the curtains woke her. It was Saturday. For a moment she had forgotten all that had taken place the night before. She got up reluctantly, peeked in on her mother and the girls. All were sleeping soundly. She headed for the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. Then she went into the bathroom and ran her bath water. It wasn't until she was soaking in the tub that she remembered the money, the book, and Donald. A shiver ran down her spine when she relived that moment at the pier when a man reached for her bag. Earlier that same day, the police had come looking for Donald. They wouldn't say why. Donald had called her and told her to bring his mail to him at the pier, yet he hadn't shown up. What was going on? Whatever it was, she didn't want herself or her family involved. Kevin had tried to reassure her, but it hadn't worked. She was more concerned now than ever before.

  "Momma, you gonna be in there long?" Shanell's voice broke into her thoughts. "I gotta go."

  "I'll be right out." She finished her bath and putting yesterday behind her, she focused on her present chores. Today was the nurse's day off, so she would have to look after her mother. Maybe she'd dress her and take her to the park while the weather was still mild.

  It was difficult getting her mother bathed and dressed, but with both Tricia and Shanell's help, she managed. And thanks to Mr. Frazier, the neighbor who practically carried her mother downstairs, they were on their way.

  "I'm taking you to the park, Ma'dear? It's about time you got out and got some fresh air." Hazel pushed the wheelchair along, nodding to everyone who looked her way as she passed. Some ignored her, but a few smiled or nodded back. Like many on the city street, she, too, was always busy, either coming or going, always moving. Having a leisurely stroll on a warm spring day was something she seldom had a chance to do. "I need to do this more often," she noted.

  Another thing she realized was that she wasn't really connected to the community in ways that mattered. She seldom went to any of the surrounding churches unless someone invited her. Nor did she belong to any of the civic organizations like the NAACP. As far as attending PTA meetings or even back to school nights, those were not on her list of priorities. She made a note to take some time away from her busy schedule to become involved. It would help the girls, she thought. However, she knew she was only fooling herself. The likelihood of this happening was probably less than none, yet it was a nice thought.

  Hazel felt good as she wheeled her mother down the block and across the street to the park, chatting about nothing in particular, a one-way conversation since her mother showed little reaction and no verbal response. She stopped near a park bench and watched the children play on the teeter-totter and climb the monkey bars. Hazel wanted to light up a cigarette, but she knew her mother would disapprove. Instead she pulled out a stick of gum.

  Ma'dear's health had improved a bit since she came to live with them more than a month ago. Hazel remembered how she'd suddenly awakened. A few days earlier she had been on the phone to Kevin when she heard her mother's voice calling her as soon as she hung up. Running to the room, she pushed open the door. Ma'dear's eyes were wide open and though it was barely above a whisper, Hazel heard her call her name.

  "Yes, Mama. What's wrong?"

  "Water, I want water. So thirsty."

  Tears flowed from Hazel's eyes as she rushed to the sink to fill a glass with water and bring it back to Ma'dear.

  "Mama, you're awake. You've come back to us."

  Since then, her mother seemed to stay awake longer and
seemed to be aware of her surroundings. Still, she had a long way to go before she would completely recover. Nonetheless, Ma'dear was making steady progress.

  Hazel took a sidelong glance at her mother. "Well, where do we go from here?" she said aloud. "I wish you could understand me, Mama. I wish I knew what you were thinking. There's so much I want. I want my girls to grow up to become nice young ladies, to go to college, to find good husbands and get married. I'm taking an accounting course and when I'm through, I'm going to try to start my own business. I bet you never thought I'd get serious and settle down?" She laughed nervously. "You always thought of me as a flake, right? That I'd never amount to much? Melvin was the light in your eyes." Stop it! Just shut up! She thought, feeling a knot form in her stomach. "What is it you use to tell me? That I would always be looking for somebody to take care of me." She looked down at her mother who showed no response. "I wish I did have somebody to take care of me and my girls now."

  To hell with it, she thought. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Lighting one up, she inhaled deeply, exhaling a long trail of smoke. Her mother coughed. Hazel took another long drag and dashed the cigarette out. They sat for a while saying nothing. Suddenly she jumped up.

  "I guess we'd better be heading home," she laughed nervously. "We need to do this more often."

  As she approached her block, she saw a police car parked in front of her apartment building. A small crowd had gathered. Her steps quickened as she saw Mr. Frazier talking to one of the policemen.

  "What's going on here?" she asked as she pushed the wheelchair through the crowd. Her heart beat rapidly. "Has anything happened to my girls?"

  "Tricia and Shanell are all right," Mr. Frazier assured her.

  "A break-in," the young officer said. "Are you Mrs. Porter? You live in Apartment 3?"

  "Yes," Hazel responded her voice rising. "Where are my girls?"

  "In my apartment. My wife is looking after them. They're alright." Mr. Frazier helped Hazel take her mother to his apartment to wait.