Mama Read Online Free PDF

beautiful and healthy kids. But like most handsome men, she thought, screwing and making babies was about the only thing they did with dedication and consistency, without much thought or consideration, and were so damn proud afterward, that you'd swear they'd won the Kentucky Derby or something.

Three
    E VEN AFTER THE FIRST YEAR had passed and Mildred's endurance had sunk below sea level, she didn't have a single regret about divorcing Crook. She'd been fired from Diamond Crystal Salt because she'd called in sick too many times in the few short months she'd worked there. It was boring work to Mildred anyway. All she did from seven to three in the afternoon was add a free-flowing agent to the fine-grained salt so it wouldn't cake up from the humidity. It didn't make any sense to her. She always had to put a few grains of rice in her salt shaker when it caked up anyway, so what was the point?
    It was mostly the kids who'd gotten sick, not her. Bad colds. Mumps. Measles. Then Freda started her period in the middle of her science class and threw up all over the bathroom floor when she got home. Now, Mildred was back out in Huronville on her knees six days a week, cleaning the Hales', Grahams', and Callingtons' houses.
    Mildred hated cleaning up behind white folks (behind anybody, really), but it was steady work and most of the time they left her alone in the house and she was able to work at her own pace. Nobody was standing over her shoulder the way they had when she worked at Big Boy's and the Shingle, breathing out commands or hinting at what she should do next. Here she did everything the way she felt like doing it. Quickly.
    One morning, after six months of listening to Freda beg her, Mildred let Freda come with her to see the rich folks' houses on the condition that Freda would help her clean, do something besides get in her way.
    When they pulled up in the Mercury, Freda acted like she was getting out of a limousine. She walked proudly through the oak doors.
    "Ooooooo, Mama, can you believe this?" Freda asked, as she glided through one room after another.
    "Just don't touch nothing, girl, this shit ain't fake. Everything in here is real, and it's expensive. We barely had enough gas to get out here so you know we can't pay for nothing if you break it."
    Freda promised her she wouldn't touch anything, but as soon as Mildred went about her business, Freda's fingers slid over the bronze and brass and alabaster. She was awestruck. When she heard the vacuum cleaner in the other room, she flopped down in the middle of the white couch and spread her arms across the back. Her bright black eyes scanned the airy room. She tried to guess how high the ceiling was. Fifteen or twenty feet? A chandelier with at least five thousand tiny lights glistened in the sun streaming through the tall windows. A fireplace big enough for her to walk in stood in the center of the room. Freda wondered how many times it had been lit, and if they roasted marshmallows or weenies there in the wintertime. What a way to live, she thought. She closed her eyes, let her head fall back on the couch, and imagined six of her best girlfriends lying by the fireplace in flannel nightgowns, eating popcorn and dreaming out loud about their prospective boyfriends. They were having a great time in Freda's house, and how they envied her. They loved her slumber parties because there was always plenty of everything to eat and her house was always spotless.
    "Freda, what you doing in there, girl? You too quiet, and I know when you quiet you up to something. I told you not to touch nothing, didn't I?"
    "I didn't touch nothing, Mama. I'm coming." Freda walked toward the yellow and white kitchen, where Mildred was running hot water into a tin pail.
    "I'm hungry, Mama. Can I have something to eat?"
    "Look in the icebox, girl." When Freda opened the door, her eyes zigzagged across each shelf. She had never seen so much food in a refrigerator. There were pickles and olives, a big