Absalom's Daughters Read Online Free PDF

cold.
    Judith walked right over to the phonograph. “What you playin’?”
    â€œA record,” said the albino boy.
    â€œYou only lissen to colored music?” said Judith.
    The albino boy shifted on the bed. There was a glisten of boyish beard under his lower lip. “What about you?” he said to Cassie.
    Out his window, the leaves on the trees moved in the slightest of breezes. Inside, the highly polished floor smelled overwhelmingly of wax. “We ain’t got no radio,” said Cassie.
    â€œYou poor?”
    â€œNo, suh, we jes’ ain’t got one.”
    â€œI tol’ her about the reddio in that ol’ car,” said Judith.
    â€œCome by some time and listen,” said the albino boy. “Sometimes we have a little drink out there.”
    On the way home, Judith told Cassie the albino boy’s name was Jack, that he was an orphan now that his parents had been killed in a car wreck, and that he had fifty, no, a hundred records, in New York City, where he was from.
    *   *   *
    Word about the albino boy was all around town. That night, while Lil Ma poured cornmeal into a bowl to make bread, Grandmother quizzed Cassie about him.
    â€œI heard he came down from New York City,” said Grandmother, as Cassie folded handkerchiefs in the light of the kerosene lantern. “Mrs. Hill says his parents died in a car crash.”
    â€œTrain wreck,” said Lil Ma, “wasn’t it a train wreck?”
    â€œJudith said it was their car,” said Cassie.
    â€œDid she say anything about his music?” said Lil Ma.
    â€œShe couldn’t believe those white folks let him play it.”
    â€œRace music,” said Lil Ma. “Somebody done made a record of what gets played in a juke joint.”
    â€œDid you remember to put salt in that mess, Adelaine?” said Grandmother.
    â€œYes, ma’am,” said Lil Ma.
    â€œDon’t forget the milk,” said Grandmother.
    â€œI can’t forget the milk. It won’t pull together without milk.”
    Cassie finished her stack of hankies and started on another. “Why’s it called race music?”
    â€œUncultured Negroes came up with it,” said Grandmother. “It makes people act like animals.”
    â€œMakes ’em dance,” said Lil Ma. She waved the mixing spoon over her head, hands spread like the women did in church, but there was more to it. More hip and shoulder. “Makes ’em sing.”
    She took the milk bottle out of the icebox and turned it to pour, but Grandmother said, “Warm it. You’ll kill the yeast.”
    â€œWe won’t eat for another hour if I yeast this bread,” said Lil Ma. “I’ll just put it in the skillet.”
    â€œIf the bread needs to rise, the bread needs to rise,” said Grandmother. “We won’t be common, frying it till it’s black at the edges. This albino boy,” she said to Cassie. “Mrs. Hill says he’s paper white and white hair.”
    â€œEyebrows too,” Cassie said.
    Lil Ma poured the milk into a small pan. Drops spilled over the side of the pan and burned on the hot stove. Instantly, the small kitchen smelled of scorched milk. “Doesn’t sound too healthy,” said Lil Ma. “Even really white white folks have color to them.”
    â€œI think Judith likes him,” Cassie said, and in that moment of vague speculation, realized she was right. “She can’t stop talking about him. She sings what she hears him play on the phonograph. She says he goes out to Duncan Justice’s at night and listens to New York music in some old car.”
    Lil Ma wet a rag to wipe up the milk. “You stay away from Duncan Justice and his boys.”
    The thought of going out to the car party hadn’t occurred to Cassie. She looked at Lil Ma, but Grandmother’s eyes caught her attention first. They glittered in the kerosene lamplight,