Then Ruby spoke slowly, as if addressing a group of first graders. She asked if someone could carry her to her land. Not Papa Bell’s, not her dead grandmama’s, but hers. It looked as if folks took note of that right away. She said she’d be willing to pay twenty dollars for the courtesy. Before anyone could answer, she purchased Clorox, a mop, a broom and a stack of dishcloths as if someone giving her a ride had already been decided. And although each and every person within earshot looked offended, she was right. Twenty dollars was twenty dollars. Charlie Wilkins volunteered.
Ephram had been getting Celia a Sunday paper when he heard her. Saw her. Saw the circles of sweat under the blue of her sundress as he came close to lay the dime and nickel down on the counter. He was careful not to brush her as he swept silently from the store.
She tried to tip Percy Rankin two dollars for gallantly carrying her bags to Charlie’s car and opening the door for her, without an inkling that she was insulting both the family and the man. Then she drove away, leaving a cloud of disdain behind her like an unpleasant scent.
Ephram had seen all of this and did not know why he’d felt pierced through with a crushing sorrow. He had kept to himself the rest of that day. He forgot to wish Celia a pleasant sleep. He did not brush his teeth or put on fresh pajamas. He lay in his thin bed, fully clothed, staring into the night. He did not fall asleep until dawn.
“WHAT YOU need today, Ephram?” Miss P asked him warmly. At sixty-nine, everything on her was round and smooth, her eyes, cheeks and jaw. Her fluffy white hair rounded to a bun in back. Her neck rolled into her full breasts, which gave way to even fuller hips and thighs. She always reminded Ephram of bread fresh out of the oven.
“Didn’t see you there. Me and Verde discussin’ serious business here.” She winked at Ephram.
Verde May had retrieved her copy of Ebony and was leaning over Billy Dee, who smiled up at her from the counter. She ignored Ephram completely.
“So what you need?”
“Bit of iodine and cotton, brown thread and a needle, please Miss P.”
“Give me a minute, baby.” She disappeared into the back as Chauncy strode into the store, opened the glass cooler and retrieved a Pepsi-Cola. He studied his sister, Verde May, as he opened the bottle against the counter.
“Look like the canary drooling after the cat.”
Verde answered without looking up, “Look like yo’ fly is open.”
Chauncy quickly zipped up and slumped out to the porch.
Miss P reappeared with his items. She punched them into her ancient register.
“That’ll be four ninety-five, Ephram.”
Ephram glanced at his wristwatch, minutes melting, disappearing. He edged around Verde May to get to the counter. It was awkward with the cake. She shifted in an angry huff. He reached into his pocket and realized he’d left his wallet sitting on the corner of his dresser.
“Er-uh. Forgive me Miss P. I gone and left my wallet on my dresser. I’ll get them things tomorrow.”
“I wouldn’t hear it. You pay me tomorrow after church. Look like we getting a new Church Mother.” She winked at Ephram and smiled.
Verde cut her eyes at Ephram, put her money on the counter. “I’m gone take me a Crush out the cooler.” At that she rolled Billy Dee and all the other Pretty Black Men under her arm, grabbed a soda and sauntered out of the store and down the street.
Miss P smiled and her voice dropped low, “Verde’s just mad cuz she wants her mama to win instead of yours. Supra Rankin ain’t got a chance. Celia as good as Church Mother already.”
“Thank you for saying so, Miss P.”
“No thanks needed, it’s us need to thank her for all she do round here with her Sanctified Saids, her ministering to them drunks down at Bloom’s and sprinkling holy water over pit fire ashes fools been burning in them woods. Don’t know what we’d do without her.” Then Miss P looked at Ephram and then at the cake resting in his right hand. “Where she sending you this late with one a’ her cakes?”
“Mo Perty’s wife sick again.”
“Lord that dyspepsia can be a burden.”
“Yes it can Miss P. Thank you kindly.”
He crossed the doorway onto the porch of men and took care to edge past them. The game over, they were mid-conversation.
Ephram had successfully made his way to the bottom stair when there was a loud creak. All eyes on the porch turned to him.
“Hey Ephram,” Gubber called out, “where you going with that cake?”
“Mo Perty’s wife is sick.”
Moss Renfolk spoke out, “Naw she ain’t. I seen her take the Red Bus into Newton this morning.”
Gubber laughed. “Then you going nowhere but Hades fo’ lying. Bring your black ass up here so I can get a nose full.”
Such was the holy adulation of Celia’s cakes that the whole of the porch waited, so Ephram reluctantly walked up a few steps and lifted the cloth.
“Damn that shit smell good!” Gubber let out a wolf whistle. “How ’bout a little taste,” he half teased, half asked.
Ephram quickly covered the cake.
Chauncy instigated, “Ephram, put up yo’ dukes. I believe Gubber ’bout to tackle you for that confection.” Then, “What she making fo’ my Uncle Junie’s repast day after tomorrow?”
“One angel cake, two sweet potato pies and some of her fig preserves.”
“That’s why you and me gone be friends fo’ life Ephram Jennings.”
Charlie grinned. “I’m damn happy when I take ill, cuz I know Celia Jennings soon come knocking.”
Gubber said wistfully, “Woman can cook like a mule can piss.”
Ephram eyed the open forest and began his escape.
Percy tensed with unspent gossip. “Speaking of piss, did y’all hear what that Bell gal done yesterday?” He had their attention. “Sat up in the middle of the road and peed all over herself. Like all that midnight hooping and hollerin’ wasn’t enough.”
Gubber sneered. “Somebody need to put her out her misery.”
Chauncy leaned back in his chair. “I wouldn’t be so quick. Just cuz a toad got warts don’t mean he ain’t taste good when you fry him up.”
Ephram watched Moss draw the door to the store closed. He always did this when the talk turned unchristian.
Gubber spat back, “I don’t eat no toads.”
Percy nudged Gubber, winked at his brother. “Maybe you should start. Somebody tell me they got nice, long tongues and knows just how to use them.”
Moss shook his head. “I ain’t never heard such.”
“Mouths too …” Percy put a stamp on it.
Chauncy added the postscript, “A man ain’t no better than a fly, so what he gone do if a juicy frog come along and beg to lash him with her tongue? The Devil hisself wanna do that I’d be hard-pressed to say no.”
Moss shot out, “No suh! That happen, sho’ nuff?”
“May God strike me.”
Moss fell into wonderment — like he’d just watched his dog sit up and moo.
Percy added, “Just last Thursday night. I know cuz I was there.”
Moss mouthed, “Lawd-a-mercy.”
Ephram couldn’t move. He felt his legs growing into the rail on the step. His feet were the planks, nailed tight to the beams. He couldn’t walk away now, not if God had ordered him to. He stood on the stairs like solid wood until Gubber handed him a proposition.
“Play me a game.”
Ephram felt the wood in his legs tingle and walk up the stairs. A familiar dull ache began just above his knee. There was nowhere else to walk. No road to follow. No door to be knocked on and opened. Once he was sitting Gubber added, “Put yo’ money down. Fifty cent a game.”