The Bluest Eye Read Online Free PDF Page A

soliloquy slid into the silence “…Bible say feed the hungry. That’s fine. That’s all right. But I ain’t feeding no elephants…. Anybody need three quarts of milk to
live
need to get out of here. They in the wrong place. What is this? Some kind of
dairy
farm?”
    Suddenly Pecola bolted straight up, her eyes wide with terror. A whinnying sound came from her mouth.
    “What’s the matter with
you?”
Frieda stood up too.
    Then we both looked where Pecola was staring. Blood was running down her legs. Some drops were on the steps. I leaped up. “Hey. You cut yourself? Look. It’s all over your dress.”
    A brownish-red stain discolored the back of her dress. She kept whinnying, standing with her legs far apart.
    Frieda said, “Oh. Lordy! I know. I know what that is!”
    “What?” Pecola’s fingers went to her mouth.
    “That’s ministratin’.”
    “What’s that?”
    “You know.”
    “Am I going to die?” she asked.
    “Noooo. You won’t die. It just means you can have a baby!”
    “What?”
    “How do
you
know?” I was sick and tired of Frieda knowing everything.
    “Mildred told me, and Mama too.”
    “I don’t believe it.”
    “You don’t have to, dummy. Look. Wait here. Sit down, Pecola. Right here.” Frieda was all authority and zest. “And you,” she said to me, “you go get some water.”
    “Water?”
    “Yes, stupid. Water. And be quiet, or Mama will hear you.”
    Pecola sat down again, a little less fear in her eyes. I went into the kitchen.
    “What you want, girl?” Mama was rinsing curtains in the sink.
    “Some water, ma’am.”
    “Right where I’m working, naturally. Well, get a glass. Not no clean one neither. Use that jar.”
    I got a Mason jar and filled it with water from the faucet. It seemed a long time filling.
    “Don’t nobody never want nothing till they see me at the sink. Then everybody got to drink water…”
    When the jar was full, I moved to leave the room.
    “Where you going?”
    “Outside.”
    “Drink that water right here!”
    “I ain’t gonna break nothing.”
    “You don’t know what you gonna do.”
    “Yes, ma’am. I do. Lemme take it out. I won’t spill none.”
    “You bed’ not.”
    I got to the porch and stood there with the Mason jar of water. Pecola was crying.
    “What you crying for? Does it hurt?”
    She shook her head.
    “Then stop slinging snot.”
    Frieda opened the back door. She had something tucked in her blouse. She looked at me in amazement and pointed to the jar. “What’s that supposed to do?”
    “You told me. You
said
get some water.”
    “Not a little old jar full. Lots of water. To scrub the steps with, dumbbell!”
    “How was I supposed to know?”
    “Yeah. How was you. Come on.” She pulled Pecola up by the arm. “Let’s go back here.” They headed for the side of the house where the bushes were thick.
    “Hey. What about me? I want to go.”
    “Shut uuuup,” Frieda stage-whispered. “Mama will hear you. You wash the steps.”
    They disappeared around the corner of the house.
    I was going to miss something. Again. Here was something important, and I had to stay behind and not see any of it. I poured the water on the steps, sloshed it with my shoe, and ran to join them.
    Frieda was on her knees; a white rectangle of cotton was near her on the ground. She was pulling Pecola’s pants off. “Come on. Step out of them.” She managed to get the soiled pants down and flung them at me. “Here.”
    “What am I supposed to do with these?”
    “Bury them, moron.”
    Frieda told Pecola to hold the cotton thing between her legs.
    “How she gonna walk like that?” I asked.
    Frieda didn’t answer. Instead she took two safety pins from the hem of her skirt and began to pin the ends of the napkin to Pecola’s dress.
    I picked up the pants with two fingers and looked about for something to dig a hole with. A rustling noise in the bushes startled me, and turning toward it, I saw a pair of fascinated eyes in a