Caul Baby by Morgan Jerkins (read any book .TXT) 📕

“I’m sorry?” Maman asked.

The room fell silent, and everyone stared blankly at Maman.

“What?” Maman asked.

“Marceline, I think I speak for everyone when I say that we shouldn’t just throw money at the problem. We have to deal with it at the root,” Patricia said.

“Isn’t the root of why they’re coming here money?”

“Yes, but—”

“What she’s saying is that the purpose of a block association meeting is that it’s for the block,” Claudia said as if it were the last word. “We make decisions together. We pool our resources together. That’s what community is. We don’t just fling money at things, especially when so many of us have to fling money elsewhere, like saving our families from being priced out to Inwood or Canarsie or Jersey City. But I guess you wouldn’t know about that since you and your ilk walk around here like the sun don’t rise till you say so.”

“You don’t think I have to toss money down the drain too? Every time I turn around something else needs fixing. All of you have been here at least, what, ten years? You know.”

“Yeah, but your kitchen drawers aren’t full of outstanding bills,” Claudia said. “You don’t get people knocking on your door asking if you’d like to sell all the time. Oh no! The Melancon family has an iron-clad gate—all fancy. And what is it y’all do anyway? Has to be more than that bodega, yeah? How you livin’? How you not getting pushed out when the rest of us are clinging for dear life over here?”

“Ladies, ladies. Let’s focus here, okay. Let’s quell the animosity and get through with our agenda. We’ll table this and move onto our upcoming elections,” Patricia said.

Once the meeting was adjourned, Sister Evans walked over to Maman’s side and whispered to gain her attention. “Please stick around. I have something I want to ask you.” Maman nodded and motioned for her and Hallow to sit back down. By this time, Hallow was getting antsy, kicking her feet and drawing imaginary circles on the table. She was only interested in the debate because of how passionately everyone was speaking—not because of the topic itself. Now that everyone was filing out and kissing each other goodbye on the cheek, she wondered when Maman would grab her hand to lead her out the door along with the rest of the crowd.

“Maman, why don’t people like us very much?”

“The simple answer is envy. It’s petty gossip. Do you ever see them drop by?”

Hallow shook her head.

“So would you consider them friends?”

Hallow shook her head.

“If they aren’t friends, then they don’t know us. And if they don’t know us, then whether or not they like us isn’t really our concern, is it?”

Hallow nodded. “But Maman, no one comes over.”

Sister Evans placed a hand on Maman’s shoulder and took a seat beside her. “Thank you for waiting.”

Maman twisted her body toward Sister Evans and raised her voice an octave. “Not a problem! What’s going on?”

Although they were the only people left in the basement, Sister Evans leaned in and whispered, “Is it true what they say?”

“Is what true?”

Sister Evans scrutinized Hallow’s clothes and how tightly the material encased her body. “That you all were born special. That you can heal. Is it true?”

“Depending on what you believe.”

“Oh, I want to believe. I want to believe. But I need something to hold on to. Even Jesus performed miracles for his followers.”

Maman grabbed Hallow’s left wrist with one hand and removed her glove with the other. She pulled out a lighter from her purse and ignited it. Hallow’s eyes bulged, and her chest quickly rose and fell. Maman nonchalantly held the flame to Hallow’s fingers and Hallow screamed. Sister Evans yelled for Maman to stop, and it was the immensity of that plea that made Maman close the top of the lighter. Hallow trembled and cried at the sight of her finger, which now looked like a burned sausage link. Sister Evans’s eyes alternated between Hallow and Maman, completely beside herself at what just happened, until Hallow’s charred skin reverted to its original state.

“God almighty,” Sister Evans gushed. She grabbed ahold of Hallow’s fingers, pushing them from side to side, looking on top and underneath them. “Well—there’s nothing there. Not even a nick or scab.” Maman had been so used to this carousal of emotions—from the first pain to the shock to the wonder—that she was desensitized. As a matter of fact, Maman was bored. There was a time she gasped and screamed when her mother and her mother’s mother had put her on display like this, and their stoicism was indelibly printed in her memory. This performance was all she knew.

Hallow whimpered and snatched her hand away from Sister Evans before running to the nearest corner, where she huddled into the fetal position. Maman was gobsmacked. With her face turned away from Sister Evans, Maman mouthed words to Hallow, but Hallow closed her eyes and shook her head. “I wanna go home,” she said repeatedly until she heard the women stand to their feet. Maman apologized for Hallow’s tantrum and held her wrist so tightly on the way back home that her handprint made a deep red mark on her wrist. Once they entered the foyer of their home, Maman walked into the dining room without so much as regarding Hallow and the morning they’d shared together. What Hallow needed at that moment was an adult who could make sense of all the different feelings she had. She wanted to tell Josephine, but Josephine always deferred to Maman.

There was only one other adult left in the brownstone, who Hallow would not have considered had she not been desperate. For as long as she could remember, she’d hated walking past the stairs that led to the basement. The air emanating from down there was frigid and stale. The darkness stung her eyes if she lingered too long. Sometimes she heard whispers creeping in and around that darkness. But if