Chapter 13 #2
Lord, what is wrong with them? I do not think they are old people, but her eyes are sunken in like those rotten-apple dolls you buy at a country store.
His chin is long and skinny and strange.
They look like they might be close related.
They skip cross-eyed Fanny and also Sue Anne who is already talking to another mama, which leaves only me and Dorella.
His overalls are oily. Her dress is so dirty, I couldn’t say if it’s brown or gray.
She looks me up and down and says to him, Whatcha think about this un, Enoch?
She’s on the puny side, but I reckon she do. He takes my arm and wags it like a tail.
Means she won’t eat much, the shrunk-faced lady says and leans close up to me.
Her breath smells like potted meat. You ever caught a baby before?
she asks and grins, and I back away and see she is big up front.
Helping her have a baby sounds even worse than five months alone and I look around, ready to throw a fit with drool.
I don’t even see Miss Garnett in here to tell them what I am.
She must be up in the damn lounge, doing the Special Talks.
The lady turns around and tells Miss Frances, I already shote the fat lady our papers—
I’m very sorry, but Meg’s already got another family waiting on her, Miss Frances says.
The rotted-faced woman sighs, blowing awful air in my face, and moves over to Dorella. I look at Miss Frances grateful and realize … she was actually telling the truth.
I go straight as a pole.
Moving in their place is a couple. Not young and not old.
The mama has big brown eyes and plain brown hair.
Her smile is sweet. It is nothing fancy, what she has on, just a regular faded dress, white with pale blue flowers.
She has three little girls of her own hanging on to it like baby possums. Behind her the daddy is very tall, wearing a brown suit.
He is holding his hat in his hands, gentle as a kitten.
Mr. and Mrs. Smith, I’d like you to meet Meg, Miss Frances says. She’s smart and she can read … She glances up like she is trying to remember. And she cleans pretty good too! Now I’ll let y’all get to know each other.
I look at the mama. My heart is pounding inside my dress.
Meg, why that’s a real nice name, she says, soft. She seems kind and something tells me she can cook and just those two things will do fine with me. How old are you, honey?
I am eleven and a half, ma’am.
Well, what pretty blue eyes you have, Meg, she says, staring so deep. I can near see clear to the other side. Under her gentle manner, I will say she looks bone-tired. Like she does not sleep much for worrying everybody else is.
I be sure and tell her, Thank you, ma’am, so she knows I got manners. And now it is time to turn on the charm.
I see you got some little ones there with you. I could look after them, get up in the night, let you get some rest. I smile at them and the littlest one grins back and she bites down on her mama’s thigh. This mama doesn’t even flinch. Just says, No chewing on me now, Carolanne.
I can also teach them to play the piano if you have got one of those.
Oh no, we don’t have us a piano, she says and steps back from me a little.
Well maybe there is one at your church? I say. Or a organ board of some kind?
We do have one at the church, we sure do, and she moves up again like a fish on my line, but then she frowns. Where your people from? You have kind of a city accent to you.
The way she says that, I can tell this is not good. No, ma’am. I am from a cotton field in Mississippi. Which is mostly true.
She nods at this and looks back at the daddy behind her, and they talk with their eyes. I hunt for Miss Garnett, but she is still gone. Lord, I bet these folks do not even spank very hard.
What do you think, Quitman? she says up to him.
He says, I think she’d make a fine big sister, Mama. She looks like a good helper.
She turns to me and says, We won’t be but a minute, honey, and they speak to Miss Frances. She leads them as a whole nice family out to the lounge, and if the Lord works in mysterious ways like the saying goes, they will be back here any minute for our Special Talk.
I stand still and erect, trying to remember to breathe.
I wonder if these Smiths have a toilet inside the house.
Maybe some puppies or kittens to play with.
A few girls up from me, Fanny has a arm hitched over her head and is wagging her tongue, straining to wet her pants, trying to run off the rotted-tooth man and the shrunken-faced wife.
I almost feel sorry for her, but let’s not go that far.
After a couple of minutes of sweating and waiting, here come the Smiths back in the room.
Led by that damn phony Garnett. I watch her stop at Sarah who is nine and standing four up from me.
I hear Miss Garnett say She comes from a big family and she could do a better job tending to your little ones.
Then it all goes fast and slow at once.
The mama is staring Sarah in the eyes. Telling her what a pretty name it is, isn’t that a pretty name, Quitman?
I grind my teeth because Meg. Meg is the pretty name here!
I know it looks desperate, but I lean up and wave to them, jerking my neck out, but they won’t look at me.
I try and catch Miss Frances’s attention, because she is watching this too.
Frowning like she is confused herself, while Ella Jane bangs her fists on her knees because a mama has chose her and is trying to take her away.
It rises up my throat, the feeling I got to get out of here. Get somewhere better or die trying.
I watch Sarah walk out with them for her Special Talk. Just like that, the hubbub of the day is more or less over.
After a while, the Fatass finally lets the six big girls still here sit on the floor.
She says, Bound to be a record, might as well call it a day, because she is ready to go on home.
Both babies, three toddlers, including Ella Jane, and the big girls Sarah, Ethel, and Sue Anne are all gone.
It is just me and the leftovers here. A last straggler walks out, saying she was told there would be more babies.
First in line now, Ginny starts crying for her mama, digging all up in her nose. I do not feel like crying, I feel like damn kicking something. I shut my eyes and pretend I am disappeared.
I guess I drift off against the wall a few minutes.
What do I need to do, write a check or something?
I’m sorry, but I told you there aren’t any babies left, Miss Pripp says.
We drove almost two hours to get here. I guess we’ll look at who you have left.
I open my eyes.
A very thin but shapely lady in a emerald-colored dress edges her way past Miss Pripp.
Her wavy hair is the color my mama called strawberry blond.
While I do not claim to be a expert on the costs of things, she looks very well-off.
Shiny red handbag, green hat to match the dress.
All us big girls watch her as she goes for the toddlers.
The Fatass swishes after her. You can’t just walk in here and take one, we got a protocol you got to folla!
I see the lady wrinkle her nose at the poor selection sitting on the rug with Miss Frances, one with a blotchy skin affliction and two that are very whiny and tired.
The lady clicks open her handbag and hunts inside without looking.
Her red lipstick matches the bag dead exact.
Now that is taste. When she pulls a cigarette out, on second thought she just holds it between her fingers.
The lady swivels around on her heels and looks along our wall.
What kind of protocol? she asks the Fatass.
Lord, I think she might be considering a big girl.
I stand up quick and move up in the line, just go ahead and do it. Dorella swats at my ankle, but I make it to the number two position. Ginny, at the number one, is rooted good in the corner.
Potential married couples must show proof of proper residence and present a letter stating they got no less than twenty-five dollars in cash or in a bank.
Closer up I see she is younger and a lot prettier than most that come in here.
Fair but not freckly like some redheads are.
She has thick black eyelashes. I got my head sticking out, trying to get this lady to notice me, but she walks up to the number one spot, to Ginny, who is only seven.
She has pretty yellow hair with curls and for the first time in her life does not have her finger up her damn nose.
I’m sorry, but I didn’t bring any of those things. What about this one? she says, looking at Ginny. Her hair’s a pretty color.
After that, Miss Pripp says like she was so rudely interrupted, all prospective parents must meet with Chairlady Garnett Pittman and the inspector and only then may they take a girl to have the Special Talk.
Come on, Ginny.
Miss Frances has got to her feet watching this, but she looks unsure if it is unappropriate to steer a mama away from a girl. I don’t give a rat’s ass about unappropriate.
The pretty lady is still looking Ginny up and down. If it’s a towheaded girl she wants, well my hair is the same damn color!
Come on, Ginny.
A tall man in a pale blue suit and glasses has walked in. Darling, I thought we were here to look at a baby, he says to her.
Come on, girl.
And like a wish come true, UP that nose goes Ginny’s finger, and how it hunts and digs! The woman curls her lip ever so slight and eases back from her. Her eyes and then her feet move to the next girl, which is … What’s your—
I am MEG, I say. Margot is my paper name.
She looks me up and down, then puts her hand out like I am a regular person she met on the street. I shake it, firm. I heard somewhere a firm handshake will get you places. She looks sort of impressed. Alright, Meg, Margot. How old are you?
I am eleven, I say and leave that half off.