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  After they left, George told Emma, “We ain’t servin no mo whitefolks.” And he meant it! The very next day when the white customers showed up for lunch, they were turned away, cutting the business in half.

  Mama Joe lived in a shotgun house half a block down the road. Even though she was sixty years old, she was feisty. Emma and Elzado had met her long ago when they first came to Longview. She was bootlegging back then, and was still plying her trade. Mama Joe even turned a trick now and then, “jes for good luck,” she’d say.

  It was hard to fathom someone turning a trick with Mama Joe. She was about four feet tall and missed being a midget by a toenail. Her bosom was so exaggerated she looked like a bantam chicken, and her head seemed to sit right down on her shoulders, making the hump on her back more visible. To conceal it, she wore middy-collared dresses.

  When she came over to our house, she never said more than a few words to me, “How you Whitefolks? Boy, you sho is growin,” or “Emma, Whitefolks’ hair ain’ gittin a bit darker!” If no gambling was going on, she and Emma talked for hours about years gone by. Mama Joe didn’t shoot dice, but she loved to play two bits a game pitty-pat.

  She usually walked over about once or twice a week, but since she’d found out Emma was pregnant, she was over every day talking to them about the baby. “Lissen Emma, George may not know it, but way back yonner, you ‘membuh I tole you afta Whitefolks wuz born, ef you ever had anutha baby, I wonted it. An you promised me ef you had anutha un, you’d let me keep it. Didn’ you tell me that?”

  “Yeah, Mama Joe, I tole you that, but that wuz a long time ago. I can’t jes let you have the baby. George got somethin to say bout it. Ain’tcha, baby?”

  George was a slow talker and Mama Joe seized another opportunity before he answered, “Emma, you an George both know neitha one uv y’all ain’ got no time to mess wit no baby. Since y’all dun started sellin meals, y’all keeps a house full uv peoples all the time. When y’all gon have time to take care uv it? Emma, y’all both know I wouldn’ let it wont fer nuthin. I’d be good to it an take care uv it, jes lak it wuz mine. Y’all wouldn’ hafta worry bout nuthin. An y’all kin see it ever day.”

  Reeking with self-pity, “On account uv my condition, I ain’ never been able to have chillun uv my own. I didn’ even have no sisters an brothers. Please Emma!” If she came over three times a day, she begged and pleaded with them three times a day.

  When they weren’t cooking, they were gambling. He was more of a card player than a crapshooter. Not all that good at either. Soon as they were caught up in the kitchen, she had her crap game going and he had another blanket spread out playing cards. I didn’t hear much noise on the other side of the curtain now. When they went to bed they were both dog tired. The good thing for me was she was being distracted and wasn’t as quick to get the coat hanger after my ass.

  Emma helped with the cooking as long as she could until the summer’s heat started getting to her and she fainted on the kitchen floor. As her time grew nearer, she became less and less help. George had his hands full. They realized that even with both of them going full blast, it was almost more than they could handle. With a new baby in the house, Emma would be spending a lot of time taking care of it. They couldn’t afford that; George would be left shorthanded.

  “Baby,” Emma told me, “run down to Mama Joe’s an tell her I said to cum over here.” She came right away. “Mama Joe, me an George talked it over an want you to keep the baby for us when it cums. The way thangs is goin, I need to git back on my feet quick as I kin. An for a while anyway, I don’t see myself havin the time to take care uv it. Lissen Mama Joe, you best git one thang straight now, it’s only gon be while it’s little. Soon as it gits big enuff where it don’t need so much time, I’m gittin my baby back. You understand!?”

  Mama Joe was stunned speechless, and only nodded her head. “So when the time cums, I don’t want no shit outta you either. You hear whut I said Mama Joe? I’m gittin my baby back!”

  Thrilled to get the baby under any terms, Mama Joe whooped and shouted for joy, jumping in jubilation. “Ef it’s a boy, y’all kin name him George or whutever, but ef it’s a girl,” she said longingly, “I’m namin her Patsy Sue an callin her Pat fer short. I’m goin home rat now an start makin her sum clothes. I already know it’s gon be a lil’ pissytail gal!” She got to the door, stopped and looked back, “Emma, I betcha a half a pint it’s a gal.”

  “You got a bet, Mama Joe.”

  When the labor pains started, George ran across the road to Miss Bertha’s dilapidated shotgun house and told her excitedly, “I thank Emma’s bout to domino. Kin she use yo place to deliver in an will you midwife for her?”

  Ancient looking, as if she just stepped off the slave ship from Africa, Miss Bertha was a jet-black wiry wisp of a woman who didn’t weigh ninety pounds soaking wet but strong as an ox from a lifetime of backbreaking work. Toiling from sunup to sundown, she and her brood of children and grandchildren scratched out a meager existence by doing laundry for whitefolks. The walls of her house were lined with fruit jars full of homebrewed medicinal concoctions, and she was the next best thing to a real doctor for the poor folks in the Junction.

  Blessed with a heart of gold, she readily agreed to help and told her gang to go sit out in the yard. George got somebody to run the Saturday night crap game already in progress. He and I kept vigil outside Miss Bertha’s house. We got along fairly well. He didn’t have much to do with me, nor I with him. We more or less avoided each other, whenever possible.

  August 15th, 1936, and the mosquitoes were driving me crazy singing around my ears before Miss Bertha came to the door and said with a big toothless grin, “She got heah at zackly one minute befo midnite. Everthang’s awright, Mr. George, thank th’ Good Lawd. Didn’ hab a bit uv trouble an Miz Emma jes fine. You gots a brutaful baby gal. I dun got her all cleant up so y’all kin go on in now an see ‘em. But try not to ‘sturb Miz Emma. She’s a might tired.” Feeling around in her large apron pocket, she found the Garrett snuff can and promptly filled her bottom lip.

  Once inside the dim lamp-lit room I stepped closer to the bed for a better look. Pat was lying in Emma’s arms, all wrapped up except for a small part of her face. She was making funny little smacking noises. I told Emma, “She sounds jes lak a little baby puppy.” George shot me a dirty look.

  A few days after Pat was born, she was handed over to Mama Joe. With very little down time, Emma was back on the job. She and George were pleased with their decision about Pat. Just like Mama Joe told them earlier, she had the baby clothes ready and waiting. Between bottles, she brought Pat to the house to breast feed and had her dressed up like a doll. At George’s request, “I don’t wont that boy uv yo’s foolin wit my baby, I got instanks bout half-white nigguhs. Ain’ no tellin whut they libel to do.” I wasn’t allowed to have anything to do with her.

  Despite losing the white patrons, the cafe business continued to grow; their good cooking saw to that. Most of the time customers had to stand outside and wait for a place to sit, especially at noon. They needed a “bigger place” and George began pushing in that direction.

  “Emma, why don’t we put mo time in th’ cafe? We kin make a lot uv money if we git a bigger place. You won’t need to be gamblin an bootleggin. You kin give that part up an we kin spend mo time wit the baby. Hell, one uv these days I’d lak to go to church for a change. But livin th’ kind uv life we livin, I just wouldn’ feel right.”

  With ruffled feathers, “George, anytime you git tired uv th’ kind uv life we livin, jes let th’ doorknob hitcha where th’ Good Lord splitcha. Anyhow, I ain’ gon be settin up in no church house wit you while them sanctimonious church-goin nigguhs be tryin to figure out if I got on drawers or not.”

  George persisted more vocally, especially after the brief visits with the baby. The argument was on as soon as Mama Joe left with Pat in her arms. “Look Emma! I work jus as hard as you do an jus as long. I hate to be soundin lak a broke record, but whu
t I’m tryin to git you to understand is, we don’t havta be killin oursefs. If you’d quit gamblin so much an stop all that other shit you do, we both could git sum rest an be wit that baby mo. Thas yo job anyhow.”

  “My job! Is you a fool, George?! You must be forgittin who hired who! If you recall, I’m the one who took you in! I ain’ got no fuckin job! You the one works here!”

  “Awright, Emma, awright. But how cum you so scaid to give it up? Is this all you wanna do th’ rest uv yo life? We ain’ got no privacy! There’s nigguhs an whitefolks runnin in an outta heah all thru th’ night! An that boy uv yo’s sleeps right on the other side uv th’ curtain! You may wanna live lak this, but I be damned if I do!”

  “I ain’ scaid uv nuthin! Jes cuz runnin a cafe is yo callin, that don’t make it mine. If I tole you once, I tole you fifty fuckin times, I got a good place where I am, an I ain’ gon move!”

  “But dammit to hell Emma, it ain’ big enuff.”

  “It’s big enuff for me.”

  “Oh, so thas th’ way it is!”

  Tempers were rising, “Thas EXACTLY th’ way it is!”

  They were in the kitchen and both were working with butcher knives. Glaring at her, “I know whut’s th’ matter wit you. You needs a good ass-whuppin! If I git ahold uv yo ass, I’m gon tear this lil’ house up wit it!”

  Facing him and gripping the knife handle more firmly, “George, anytime you feel froggish, jes hop! An if you do, somebody gon havta burn me loose frum yo black ass!” She was fighting mad, “An furthermo, nigguh, I don’t need you!! I wuz makin my livin long befo I met you. An I don’t need no sonuvabitch on earth tellin me whut to do an how to live my life! An nigguh! You bet not lay down an EVEN DREAM you whupped my ass! The last time a nigguh tried that, they found ‘em dead wit a bullet in his bosom. ANYtime you feel lak you wanna whup my ass, don’tcha let nuthin stop you. An anutha thang, ain’ no Gotdam chains on yo legs an yo feet ain’ welded to that flo! You wanna leave, leave! One monkey don’t stop no show!”

  “I jus might do that!”

  “Well, do it! George baby, you ain’ no special nigguh, you jes anutha nigguh! Y’know whut George? You way too slow for me! You ain’ got sense enuff to steal, you can’t gamble, you ain’ good-lookin enuff to be no pimp, an you dun let a few white men dressed up lak Halloween ghosts scare you to death. You right, the best thang for you to do is to go back to totin them big-ass trees on yo shoulders an quit wastin my fuckin time!”

  “If it wudn’ for that baby, I’d leave yo ass right now!”

  “Aw, don’t hand me that baby bullshit! Ain’ no baby never stopped no man frum leavin a woman yet!” and looked at me.

  The next morning I woke up when I heard the front door easing shut. I quickly jumped out of my cot and got dressed for school, tipping around in the kitchen trying not to disturb them. The crap game had lasted until the wee hours. Emma had been drinking pretty heavy and I knew she would be sleeping late. I got my book satchel from the nail on the wall and tiptoed out the back door, flipping the latch behind me.

  In the classroom, after we got our wraps put away in the cloakroom, we took our seats and simmered down, “Good morning, boys and girls.”

  “Good morning, Miz Womack!” we sang back in unison.

  “Miz Womack?”

  “Yes, Murl Dee?”

  “Miz Womack, kin I be excused?”

  “Not right now Murl Dee. I think you can hold it a little while longer,” with a warm smile, “don’t you?”

  “Yes’m, Miz Womack.”

  “All right, boys and girls! Let’s get out our pencils and tablets. We’re going to work on our writing some more today.” Without ever missing a beat, “What’s the matter, Calvin? Why don’t you have your tablet out?”

  “I ain’ got none.” Slumped down in his desk with his head lowered, Calvin was semi-audible when he added, “Mama couldn’ buy me none.”

  “Why that’s all right, Calvin. You just sit up straight in your seat, and we’ll get you something to write on.” She borrowed a sheet of tablet paper from one of the other kids, “There you are,” placing it on his desk. “What’s the matter now?”

  “I ain’ got no pencil.” She went back to her desk and got him one.

  With writing behind us, it was on to the alphabet cards where we usually got stuck until recess. Out on the yard, Mrs. Womack kept a close watch over us and had us play together and keep out of the way of the older kids. Seemed like just when the playing got good, the bell rang for us to go inside. Back in the classroom, Mrs. Womack had us going through the daily ritual of singing the alphabet, “Aaaa B! Ceee D! E F G … H I J K Ellaminna P!”

  I’d never noticed before how hefty Emma had gotten after Pat was born until I looked up and saw her standing in the doorway. I knew something was wrong; I saw it in her eyes. Acknowledging her presence, Mrs. Womack stopped the singing.

  “Yes, Miss Emma, may I help you? Come right on in.”

  “I wanna talk to my boy a minute,” scanning over the classroom for me.

  Walking past the outer row of desks toward the front, Mrs. Womack pointed me out, “His desk is right over there, Miss Emma.”

  “Thank you Miz Womack,” turning up my aisle.

  “Hi Emma!”

  “Where’s yo book satchel?”

  “It’s in th’ cloakroom.”

  “Go git it!”

  “Yes’m.” I got it and hurried back to my seat.

  “Hand it here!” snatching it from me. She looked all through it, turning it inside out. “Where’s my Gotdam money?!”

  “Whut money Emma?”

  She hit me with her balled-up fist and knocked me out of my desk, out into the aisle. My nose was oozing blood. The kids in the immediate area scampered out of the way as she flung the empty desks to the side to get to me. All the while, Mrs. Womack was shouting, “No! Miss Emma no! Please, no!”

  I was still woozy when she jerked me up by my collar. “Tell me whut you did wit my money befo I kill you!” She hit me again.

  “Whut money Emma?!” I cried out.

  “Whut money!? The money I put in yo book satchel last night! Whut’d you do wit it!?”

  “I didn’ do nuthin wit it Emma. I didn’ even know it wuz in there. I don’t steal frum you Emma!”

  “Git yo shit! Miz Womack, I’m takin him home.”

  She hit and kicked me all the way home, rehashing last night’s events, “Afta everbody left, instead uv puttin it under my mattress, I hid it in yo book satchel. Wuzn’ nobody in th’ house but me, you, an George! I wuz aimin to take it out befo you went to school, but I didn’. When I woke up an seen the book satchel gone, I knowed you had my money. An you gon tell me whut you dun wit it or I’m gon stomp it outta you!”

  Opening the door to the house and shoving me inside, “Git in there!”

  “Emma, I didn’ know you put yo money in my satchel. I swear I didn’ Emma. I wuz sleep when y’all quit gamblin.” She paused and thought a moment. “I swear I didn’ do it Emma! Didja ast George? Didja look everwhere for it?”

  “Naw, I didn’ look nowhere. I know where I put it! In yo book satchel!”

  “Les look Emma. You might’ve put it sumwhere else an forgot it!” I started looking in all her familiar hiding places: under the mattress, in her shoe boxes under the bed, in my jacket pockets, and finally to George’s footlocker in the kitchen.

  “Emma!” I hollered through the doorway curtain.

  “Whut?! You find my money?”

  “Sumbody took George’s locker, it’s gone!”

  She began searching through the small chest of drawers, frantically throwing clothes everywhere. Before long, “All his clothes is gone!” Standing in the center of the room amidst the strewn clothes, “That sonuvabitch got me!”

  It was back to the two of us again, and it seemed like the roof was caving in. I took the ass whipping and George took all the money, including the hundred dollars he saw her hide in my book satchel. That money was to get us out
of arrears with the whiskey man and pay for the two cases on order, which he wouldn’t let her have on credit until she paid up.

  But, looking on the bright side, there were no worries about Pat. Mama Joe was taking care of her as if she were a little princess. When she heard George had left, she came over to the house and “thanked God” he didn’t try to take her away. Regardless of how well Pat was doing with Mama Joe, it didn’t change the fact that we were flat broke, out of whiskey to sell, and the rent was past due.

  Emma didn’t mourn George’s vanishing act beyond a long night’s drunk. It was time to get into her best clothes and head uptown. She put on her sexiest dress, gray suede high heels, and hose. After patting and primping with her hair, which was short and parted on the side with large tapered curls covering each ear, she topped it off with a coffee-colored felt tam. The thirty or so pounds she gained carrying Pat went to the right places in her hourglass figure, emphasizing her already shapely curves. Her long pretty “white girl” legs with thick calves and her big “nigger ass” were eye stoppers.

  As she was leaving, “You stay here, I be back afta while.”

  She was like a lure on a fishing line that caught fish in town, then brought them back to our house to fry. When she returned about an hour later, she pulled off her tam and pitched it on the bed, took off her heels, and busily got ready. “I got some company comin. He’ll be here in a few minutes. Watch out the window an lemme know when he gits here.” She went behind the curtain into the kitchen to change into her lounge wear.

  In a little while a car pulled up in front of the house and stopped. “He’s here, Emma,” I shouted.

  “When he knocks, let ‘em in. Tell ‘em I’ll be out in a minute.”