Catfish Alley Read Online Free PDF Page B

but mostly because the woman can cook.
I've never known a white woman who could cook such good pies.
    Mary
Ellen glances past me to Mrs. Reeves, but I don't think she realizes we're here
together. It occurs to me that I'm too old to be conducting my own little
social experiment. But here we are. Roxanne is studying the pies in the case
like she's in a museum or something. Probably wondering what I'm going to say.
    "Mary
Ellen, you know Mrs. Roxanne Reeves, I reckon," I say and look over at the
back of her head, where she's still bent toward the pie case. She pops up then
and gives Mary Ellen a stiff little smile.
    "Hello,
Mary Ellen," she says.
    "Yes,
ma'am, of course," says Mary Ellen, nodding at Roxanne. "How are you
today?" Mary Ellen is looking at both of us like we're the strangest pair
she's seen in a while.
    "Fine,
thank you," says Roxanne.
    "Roxanne
and I are doing some historical work together," I say. "She's looking
into the places around here that were important to black folk years ago."
Roxanne is looking all fidgety now, picking at something on her sleeve.
    "Oh,
I see," says Mary Ellen. It's pretty clear to me that she has no idea what
I'm talking about, but she's too polite to ask. "Isn't that
something?" She seems to not know what else to say, so she moves around
behind the counter and adds, "What can I get for y'all today?"
    I
realize right then that in all my years of coming to the cafe, I've personally
never arrived with a white person to sit down together to eat. They sit at
their tables and we sit at ours. Nowadays, you see a mix every now and then,
but not much. I wonder about myself. What was I thinking, asking her to bring
me here?
    We
order pieces of Mary Ellen's apple pie and coffee and settle ourselves at a
corner table. I think Roxanne is trying to ignore the looks from folks around
the room and get this over with.
    "So,
you were going to tell me about the school," Roxanne says.
    "When
I was a little girl, my brother, Zero — his given name was Thomas — and I lived
with my mother and my grandmother in a small house on the Calhoun plantation. I
remember my first day at the Union School. I was so excited. That was also the
day my brother got his nickname...."
    Roxanne
starts to relax around the shoulders a little bit, stops glancing around the
room so much. I always could calm the children with my stories. Maybe it will
work for her, too.
     
    September 1919
     
    "Grace! Thomas!" Mama
hollers. "Y'all get on in here. Breakfast is ready. These biscuits get-tin' cold."
    I run from the outhouse toward the
kitchen, trying to twist one of my braids and pull my new dress into place at
the same time. Mama stands in the kitchen doorway and laughs at how excited I
am.
    "Calm down, girl. You are going
to wear yourself out before you even get to school. Go over there to the pump
and wash your hands before you come eat. Where's your brother?"
    "I don't know, Mama." I
push down on the pump handle and shiver as the cold water pours over my hands.
I rub on the lye soap, rinse off quick, and stop myself just in time from
drying my hands on my clothes. Grandma worked hard on this school dress. I sure
don't want to ruin it before I even get to wear it anywhere. Mama waits at the
back door and folds me into her skirt for a big hug.
    "Maybe Tom went hunting,"
I say. "Grandma told him she wanted him to get some squirrel for
supper."
    "Maybe so. Lord knows I can't
keep that boy out of the woods. But he knew this was the first day of school.
He better get back here soon, or we'll be having some words."
    I climb into my chair at our old
beat-up kitchen table and tie a dishcloth under my chin to protect my new dress
while Mama fills my plate with biscuits, gravy, and sausage and fixes me a cup
of milk coffee. Just as I'm about to eat, Tom comes busting in the back door,
out of breath, carrying three squirrels upside down by the tails.
    "Boy, get yourself in here and
eat," Mama says. "School starts in an hour and a half and