Chapter 14 ALBD reading

“I FINISHED all my work. I wanted to see you,” Vivian said. I had already stood up. I moved

around the table and kissed her. “I couldn’t have wished for anything more. But why today?” “I

don’t know,” she said. “I just missed you. I wanted to see you.” “Where are the children?”

“Dora,” she said. “I hope I’m not keeping you from anything.” “Only from a boring afternoon.”

Vivian smiled and looked around the room. “Not much to look at,” I said, apologizing for the

place. This had been my parents’ room before they went to California during the war. There was

a bed, a chifforobe, a washstand, a table, and a couple of chairs. All the furniture was old. On

the mantelpiece were three pictures, in five-by-seven wood frames: one of Vivian and me, one

of my mother, and one of my father. A photocollage of Frederick Douglass, Abraham Lincoln,

and Booker T. Washington hung over the mantel. Several pictures from calendars over the past

few years were tacked to the wall. The wallpaper had brown, red, and green squares, and in

places it was torn from age. Vivian picked up the picture of my mother. “Mom?” she said. “Yes.”

“Pretty.” “About your complexion, very fair.” She replaced the picture and took up my father’s.

“Dark and handsome,” she said. “I suppose you can say that.” “I don’t know those other two,”

she said, looking at our picture. She looked around the room. “I love it. Rustic.” “It’s rustic, all

right. Probably the most rustic place you will ever visit.” “Pastoral,” she said. “That too,” I said.

“With the singing and praying up at the church, really pastoral.” “I like it,” she said. “Try staying

here about a year.” She had gone to the window, and she was looking across the vegetable

garden toward the church up the quarter. I moved behind her and put my arms around her

waist, and I could smell her perfume. She turned to me, and I brought my hands up to her face

and held it a moment, while we looked at each other. Then I kissed her, kissed her very

tenderly, and when I looked at her again, I could see in her face that she loved me as much as I

loved her. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything here to drink,” I said. “Don’t worry about that.” “Would

you like to eat something? My aunt made a cake.” “I had a good breakfast,” Vivian said. “What
about some coffee?” “Don’t bother.” “It’s already made.” “Okay.” We went through my aunt’s

room, which was even more rustic than mine, then into the kitchen. In the kitchen was a black

four-lid wood stove, a five-foot-tall white icebox, a handmade table with four wood-bottom chairs

around it, a safe with screen doors for the dishes, a broom that had seen better days, an ax in

the corner, and several black pots and aluminum pans, hanging from nails on the wall. Very,

very rustic. Vivian stood at the back door, looking across the yard toward the field, where some

of the cane had been cut. The cane had not been hauled to the derrick yet, and it was lying

across the rows. A little farther over, where another patch of cane was standing, tall and blue-

green, you could see the leaves swaying softly from a breeze. After warming the coffee, I

poured each of us a cupful. I cut two slices from the chocolate cake my aunt had in the safe,

then we sat down at the table, facing the yard and the field. “It’s really peaceful,” Vivian said.

“Sunday is the saddest day of the week.” “Not for those who have to work in the field.” “It has

always been for me.” “You ought to find something to do on Sunday. Like going to church.” I

didn’t answer her. “I know you believe,” she said. “You don’t want to, but I know you do.” “The

only thing I believe in is loving you.” We finished our cake and coffee, and I put the cups and

saucers in the pan of msoap water on the window shelf. “We ought to wash them,” Vivian said.

“They’re okay.” “No,” she said. “It’s not fair to her. You wash, I’ll dry.” “It’s going to be like that,

huh?” “Un-hunh,” she said. There was hot water in the kettle on the stove, and I poured some

into the dishpan. Vivian had already taken down another pan from the wall, and I poured the

rest of the hot water into it; she added cold water from the faucet by the icebox. I washed and

rinsed the dishes, and she dried them and put them into the safe. It felt good doing this with her.

“Is that enough?” I asked when we had finished. “Or do you want me to sweep out the kitchen

and mop, too?” She looked down at the floor. “I don’t think so,” she said. “It looks pretty clean.”

We had been playing. Now I became serious. “How long can you stay?” “I have some time.”

“Would you like to go for a walk down the quarter?” She nodded. “But first I must go back to

your little girl’s house.” I nodded toward the toilet, which was set on the ditch near the cane field.
She left the kitchen, and I went to my room and put on a warmer shirt. I also got my knife, in

case we wanted a piece of sugarcane. I was standing on the porch when she came in from the

back. “Rustic enough out there for you?” “I’ve been in worse. I’m a country girl, remember?” We

left the house. Up at the church, Reverend Ambrose had just started his ’Termination song,

“Amazing Grace.” We went down the quarter. Most of the people who had not gone to church

were indoors. Seldom was someone sitting out on the porch, and no one worked in the gardens

or chopped wood in the yard. Horses and mules were grazing in the pastures beside and behind

the houses, but that was about as much movement as you saw. Above, a low ashen sky loomed

over the plantation, if not over the entire state of Louisiana. A swarm of black birds flew across

the road and alighted in a pecan tree in one of the backyards to our left. The entire plantation

was deadly quiet, except for the singing coming from the church up the quarter behind us. We

crossed the railroad tracks and turned right. In front of us were three or four boxcars of

sugarcane, waiting to be picked up by a train and taken to the mill. We could also see the

weighing scales left of the full boxcars, and the derrick that lifted the cane from wagons and

trailers and swung it onto the boxcars. Left of the weighing scales and the derrick was the

plantation cemetery, where my ancestors had been buried for the past century. The cemetery

had lots of trees in it, pecans and oaks, and it was weedy too, and since there were so few

gravestones, it was pretty hard to see many graves from the road. Just before we came up to

the cemetery, we turned left on a road that would take us farther into the field. This was Vivian’s

first time back here, and I told her that my people had worked these fields ever since slavery,

and many of them were buried in the cemetery behind us. I asked her if she wanted a piece of

cane, and she said yes. I jumped over the ditch and crossed a couple of rows until I found a

good stalk, then I came back to where she was waiting for me. I cut off the first two joints and

threw them away; they didn’t look sweet enough. Then I peeled the third joint and tasted it. It

was good. I cut off a round and gave it to Vivian. She chewed it and let some of the juice run

down her chin, the way a small child would do. The small child would not have been able to help
it, but she could. I cut off a round for myself and chewed it. It was very soft, very sweet. We

chewed cane and walked the road for at least three quarters of a mile. Just before coming up to

the gate that would lead into the swamp, I noticed a pecan tree to our right. I had picked pecans

under that tree many times, and I suggested we go over there and see if we could find some.

The tree stood at the headland of the cane field. We searched for pecans in the grass on the

headland and down between the rows of cane. We found a couple of dozen big ones, big and

soft-shelled, and I cracked them by squeezing two together. I gave Vivian one half, and I kept

the other. We sat under the tree, and I cracked pecans for both of us. Suddenly, we were too

quiet. “You want me here?” Vivian asked. I was not looking at her when she said it, and I could

tell by her voice that she was not looking directly at me. “Yes,” I said. She had been gazing

down at the ground. Now she raised her eyes to me. “That’s what I want too,” she said. “I love

you, Vivian,” I said. “I want you to know that. I love you very much.” “I hope you love me half as

much as I love you.” I left her for a while, and when I came back I saw that she had moved

farther down between the rows, where the cane would hide us better. She had taken off

everything except her brassiere and slip. I took off everything except the heavy shirt, which I

unbuttoned. Vivian raised her arms up and out to me as I lay down beside her. Ilay on my side

and touched her brown nipples with my finger. Then I leaned over and kissed each tenderly,

and raised up and looked at her. She was smiling at me. I went back and I passed my tongue

over each and I kissed each again and rubbed my chin over them. My beard must have been

rough, because I could feel her drawing away some, but when I looked at her she was smiling

again. I smiled back at her. “I think something happened,” she said. “What do you mean?” “I

have a strange feeling.” I looked at her, and I felt happy. But my face must have changed.

“What is the matter?” she asked. “Nothing.” “But you frowned.” “I’m happy.” “But you frowned

when I said it.” “Maybe I was just thinking. I don’t know if I want Paul to grow up here.” “Don’t

spoil it,” she said. “It’s been too good. Don’t spoil it.” “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” “And suppose it’s

Molly?” “No, it’s Paul.” “It could be Molly. Molly Wiggins. I don’t know if I like that name. You
think it’s a good name— Molly Wiggins?” “It sounds okay.” “Sounds kind of whorish to me—

Molly Wiggins.” “Then let her decide. If she likes it, we’ll keep it. If she doesn’t, we’ll call her

Paulette.” “Paul and Paulette—that sounds good. Maybe I’ll have twins.” “If not, we’ll go till

there is a Paulette.” “She may be first.” “Then we’ll go till there is Paul,” I said. “You ought to put

on something. You might catch cold.” “Not if you hold me close. Not if you put that shirt round

both of us.” I lay upon her, kissing her hair, her eyes, her nose, her mouth.