13

“Fasten that coat, let’s go,” Mama says.

“You don’t have to leave,” the lady says.

Mama don’t answer the lady, and we right out in the cold again. I’m warm right now—my hands, my ears, my feet—but I know this ain’t go’n last too long. It done sleet so much now you got ice everywhere you look.

We cross the railroad tracks, and soon’s we do, I get cold. That wind goes through this little old coat like it ain’t even there. I got on a shirt and a sweater under the coat, but that wind don’t pay them no mind. I look up and I can see we got a long way to go. I wonder if we go’n make it ’fore I get too cold.

We cross over to walk on the sidewalk. They got just one sidewalk back here, and it’s over there.

After we go just a little piece, I smell bread cooking. I look, then I see a baker shop. When we get closer, I can smell it more better. I shut my eyes and make ’tend I’m eating. But I keep them shut too long and I butt up ’gainst a telephone post. Mama grabs me and see if I’m hurt. I ain’t bleeding or nothing and she turns me loose.

I can feel I’m getting colder and colder, and I look up to see how far we still got to go. Uptown is ’way up yonder. A half mile more, I reckon. I try to think of something. They say think and you won’t get cold. I think of that poem, “Annabel Lee.” I ain’t been to school in so long—this bad weather—I reckon they done passed “Annabel Lee” by now. But passed it or not, I’m sure Miss Walker go’n make me recite it when I get there. That woman don’t never forget nothing. I ain’t never seen nobody like that in my life.

I’m still getting cold. “Annabel Lee” or no “Annabel Lee,” I’m still getting cold. But I can see we getting closer. We getting there gradually.

Soon ’s we turn the corner, I see a little old white lady up in front of us. She’s the only lady on the street. She’s all in black and she’s got a long black rag over her head.

“Stop,” she says.

Me and Mama stop and look at her. She must be crazy to be out in all this bad weather. Ain’t got but a few other people out there, and all of them’s men.

“Y’all done ate?” she says.

“Just finish,” Mama says.

“Y’all must be cold then?” she says.

“We headed for the dentist,” Mama says. “We’ll warm up when we get there.”

“What dentist?” the old lady says. “Mr. Bassett?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mama says.

“Come on in,” the old lady says. “I’ll telephone him and tell him y’all coming.”

Me and Mama follow the old lady in the store. It’s a little bitty store, and it don’t have much in there. The old lady takes off her head rag and folds it up.

“Helena?” somebody calls from the back.

“Yes, Alnest?” the old lady says.

“Did you see them?”

“They’re here. Standing beside me.”

“Good. Now you can stay inside.”

The old lady looks at Mama. Mama’s waiting to hear what she brought us in here for. I’m waiting for that, too.

“I saw y’all each time you went by,” she says. “I came out to catch you, but you were gone.”

“We went back of town,” Mama says.

“Did you eat?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The old lady looks at Mama a long time, like she’s thinking Mama might be just saying that. Mama looks right back at her. The old lady looks at me to see what I have to say. I don’t say nothing. I sure ain’t going ’gainst my mama.

“There’s food in the kitchen,” she says to Mama. “I’ve been keeping it warm.”

Mama turns right around and starts for the door.

“Just a minute,” the old lady says. Mama stops. “The boy’ll have to work for it. It isn’t free.”

“We don’t take no handout,” Mama says.

“I’m not handing out anything,” the old lady says. “I need my garbage moved to the front. Ernest has a bad cold and can’t go out there.”

“James’ll move it for you,” Mama says.

“Not unless you eat,” the old lady says. “I’m old, but I have my pride, too, you know.”

Mama can see she ain’t go’n beat this old lady down, so she just shakes her head.

“All right,” the old lady says. “Come into the kitchen.”

She leads the way with that rag in her hand. The kitchen is a little bitty little old thing, too. The table and the stove just ’bout fill it up. They got a little room to the side. Somebody in there laying ’cross the bed—’cause I can see one of his feet. Must be the person she was talking to: Ernest or Alnest—something like that.

“Sit down,” the old lady says to Mama. “Not you,” she says to me. “You have to move the cans.”

“Helena?” the man says in the other room.

“Yes, Alnest?” the old lady says.

“Are you going out there again?”

“I must show the boy where the garbage is, Alnest,” the old lady says.

“Keep that shawl over your head,” the old man says.

“You don’t have to remind me, Alnest. Come, boy,” the old lady says.

We go out in the yard. Little old back yard ain’t no bigger than the store or the kitchen. But it can sleet here just like it can sleet in any big back yard. And ’fore you know it, I’m trembling.

“There,” the old lady says, pointing to the cans. I pick up one of the cans and set it right back down. The can’s so light, I’m go’n see what’s inside of it.

“Here,” the old lady says. “Leave that can alone.”

I look back at her standing there in the door. She’s got that black rag wrapped round her shoulders, and she’s pointing one of her little old fingers at me.

“Pick it up and carry it to the front,” she says. I go by her with the can, and she’s looking at me all the time. I’m sure the can’s empty. I’m sure she could’ve carried it herself—maybe both of them at the same time. “Set it on the sidewalk by the door and come back for the other one,” she says.

I go and come back, and Mama looks at me when I pass her. I get the other can and take it to the front. It don’t feel a bit heavier than that first one. I tell myself I ain’t go’n be nobody’s fool, and I’m go’n look inside this can to see just what I been hauling. First, I look up the street, then down the street. Nobody coming. Then I look over my shoulder toward the door. That little old lady done slipped up there quiet’s mouse, watching me again. Look like she knowed what I was go’n do.

“Ehh, Lord,” she says. “Children, children. Come in here, boy, and go wash your hands.”

I follow her in the kitchen. She points toward the bathroom, and I go in there and wash up. Little bitty old bathroom, but it’s clean, clean. I don’t use any of her towels; I wipe my hands on my pants legs.

When I come back in the kitchen, the old lady done dished up the food. Rice, gravy, meat—and she even got some lettuce and tomato in a saucer. She even got a glass of milk and a piece of cake there, too. It looks so good, I almost start eating ’fore I say my blessing.

“Helena?” the old man says.

“Yes, Alnest?”

“Are they eating?”

“Yes,” she says.

“Good,” he says. “Now you’ll stay inside.”

The old lady goes in there where he is and I can hear them talking. I look at Mama. She’s eating slow like she’s thinking. I wonder what’s the matter now. I reckon she’s thinking ’bout home.

The old lady comes back in the kitchen.

“I talked to Dr. Bassett’s nurse,” she says. “Dr. Bassett will take you as soon as you get there.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Mama says.

“Perfectly all right,” the old lady says. “Which one is it?”

Mama nods toward me. The old lady looks at me real sad. I look sad, too.

“You’re not afraid, are you?” she says.

“No, ma’am,” I say.

“That’s a good boy,” the old lady says. “Nothing to be afraid of. Dr. Bassett will not hurt you.”

When me and Mama get through eating, we thank the old lady again.

“Helena, are they leaving?” the old man says.

“Yes, Alnest.”

“Tell them I say good-bye.”

“They can hear you, Alnest.”

“Good-bye both mother and son,” the old man says. “And may God be with you.”

Me and Mama tell the old man good-bye, and we follow the old lady in the front room. Mama opens the door to go out, but she stops and comes back in the store.

“You sell salt meat?” she says.

“Yes.”

“Give me two bits worth.”

“That isn’t very much salt meat,” the old lady says.

“That’s all I have,” Mama says.

The old lady goes back of the counter and cuts a big piece off the chunk. Then she wraps it up and puts it in a paper bag.

“Two bits,” she says.

“That looks like awful lot of meat for a quarter,” Mama says.

“Two bits,” the old lady says. “I’ve been selling salt meat behind this counter twenty-five years. I think I know what I’m doing.”

“You got a scale there,” Mama says.

“What?” the old lady says.

“Weigh it,” Mama says.

“What?” the old lady says. “Are you telling me how to run my business?”

“Thanks very much for the food,” Mama says.

“Just a minute,” the old lady says.

“James,” Mama says to me. I move toward the door.

“Just one minute, I said,” the old lady says.

Me and Mama stop again and look at her. The old lady takes the meat out of the bag and unwraps it and cuts ’bout half of it off. Then she wraps it up again and juggs it back in the bag and gives the bag to Mama. Mama lays the quarter on the counter.

“Your kindness will never be forgotten,” she says. “James,” she says to me.

We go out, and the old lady comes to the door to look at us. After we go a little piece I look back, and she’s still there watching us.

The sleet’s coming down heavy, heavy now, and I turn up my coat collar to keep my neck warm. My mama tells me turn it right back down.

“You not a bum,” she says. “You a man.”