The Darkest Child Read Online Free PDF Page A

I knew the price of a stamp. I offered the coins, but he refused to take them from my hand, playing the game he so often played with Negro customers, letting us know that he’d rather we did not enter the United States Government’s post office.
    “Drop ’em on the counter,” he said roughly, rapping the countertop with his knuckles.
    For a second or two, I stood there staring down, knowing it would be considered impertinent of me to make eye contact.
    “Niggers,” he mumbled, slowly shaking his bald, melon-shaped head in a gesture of disgust.
    As I clenched my fist, then opened it to surrender the coins, I found that I no longer commanded Mr. Nesbitt’s attention. He was busy waiting on a plump, white woman in a blue, wool coat.
    “Charlie, I’m so glad I caught you,” she said in a rush. “I simply must get these invitations out today. You know how it is, don’t you?”
    “Yes, I do, Mrs. Simmons,” Charlie answered. “How’s Mr.
    Simmons? I haven’t seen him around in a month of Sundays.”
    “Oh, Gus is about the same,” she said, placing a bundle of envelopes on the counter and peeling white gloves from her hands. “Amelia is the one you ought to be asking about. She insisted on having a February wedding, and we can’t seem to talk her out of it. I’ve pleaded with her to wait until June. There’s nothing like a June bride, wouldn’t you say?”
    “Yes, ma’am,” Charlie agreed.
    I groaned inwardly and turned from the counter to check on Martha Jean. The lobby was no larger than our kitchen at home, and I had left Martha Jean standing beside the entrance, but she was no longer there. I glanced toward each corner of the small space and did not see her. Finally I caught a glimpse of her sweater through the window in the top of the door. She was standing out on the walkway, and some man was wasting his time talking to her.
    I had started for the door when it occurred to me that Charlie Nesbitt might close the post office before I mailed my mother’s letter. Returning to the counter, I kept my gaze on Martha Jean’s back, silently willing her to stay put.
    Charlie was in a better mood after his chat with the woman in the blue coat. He waved to her as she left, then turned back to me. It took all of thirty seconds for him to produce a stamp, and for me to place it on the envelope.
    Outside, the sky had grown darker and the temperature colder. I buttoned my corduroy coat up to my neck, then stepped up beside Martha Jean. The man who stood facing her glanced over at me as I approached, and I glared at him. He was a dark, wiry-looking young man with processed waves in his hair. I had apparently caught him by surprise, in the middle of speaking. He was missing a tooth at the top, on the right side. His nose was short and wide above a thin mustache, and he barely had eyes to mention, just narrow little slits below angular eyebrows. He stood about five-ten, give or take, tall enough to look down on me and Martha Jean.
    “Mister, why are you bothering my sister?” I asked.
    “Your sister?” he questioned, glancing back at Martha Jean.
    “My sister,” I repeated defiantly.
    He flashed a lopsided smile. “What makes you think I’m bothering her? She don’t look bothered to me.”
    It was a statement of fact. Martha Jean was studying him the way she studied the images on Miss Pearl’s television screen, with interest and something akin to appreciation. She did not seem bothered; in fact, she seemed unaware that the temperature had dropped, although I could plainly see she was shivering.
    “She can’t hear a word you say, so you’re just wasting your time,” I said.
    “It’s my time,” he countered.
    Anger rippled through me. My armpits itched and burned the way they do when I’m nervous or ashamed. “Who are you?” I demanded.
    “Who you think?” he asked. “I’m Velman Cooper. I work here at the post office, and I’ll be getting off in a bit. Y’all wait for me! I’ll be right