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

“Do you feel ready to go back there? You had better make sure you’ve fully composed yourself before you go back up there with your man and child.”

“You never told me why you even tolerated Landon, or me with him for that matter. He doesn’t remind you of Daddy?”

“That he reminds me of your father is exactly why I tolerate him. I recognize the behavior. I knew from the first time he saw you that he would do anything for you, and that’s why I brought him in. The money didn’t hurt either. The devil you know is better than the devil you don’t.”

Josephine imagined herself twisting the doorknob, grabbing the bannister in front of her, and walking the path that led to the dark corridor upstairs. She slowly sat back down.

Suddenly, Maman stood up and walked over to a chest, where she pulled out a rag, some micellar water, bobby pins, and a thick hair cream. She pulled Josephine and the chair closer to the side of the bed before dabbing the rag with some of the micellar water. “You remember when I used to do this?”

Josephine smiled. “Years and years ago. Back in the day.”

“Mm-hmm. You know, Josephine—” Maman swiped the rag over Josephine’s forehead, and the material turned brown with small streaks of a sheer highlighter. “When you take off your makeup at night, you can take off more than one mask. I know that you beautify yourself because you feel like you have to, don’t you? You have to be on your p’s and q’s even when Valerie isn’t. But you have more control than you think you do, and you have a family now.” Maman stood up and parted Josephine’s hair into four sections: one horizontal line across her scalp and the other going straight down from the top of her head to the nape of her neck. She took one side and slathered the hair with cream before twisting and pinning it to her head, then did the same to the other side. “I am impressed that you can juggle a man and a child. That wasn’t my story, and maybe that’s one way you and I are different. But you have to be assertive even when you don’t feel like it. Even if you’re wrong. I’ve been preparing you for this all your life: to be a mother and to pass on what I teach you to your child.” Maman wrapped Josephine’s hair in a turban similar to her own. She then handed Josephine an oval-shaped mirror and placed her hands on her shoulders. “Don’t you see?”

As Maman rested her face on Josephine’s right shoulder and smiled, Josephine sensed a quiet rage in her chest. How could she be assertive when all her life she was trained to serve no other interest but her mother’s and that of the family as a collective? Josephine surveyed both their faces: their half-moon eyes, their widow’s peaks, their high cheekbones, prominent lower lips, and hilly noses. She had never noticed how much they resembled each other until tonight. Josephine couldn’t remember the last time they’d truly seen each other eye to eye. Since Josephine was a child, any time they were speaking to each other, Maman made sure that in spite of her height, she would tip her chin anyhow. But now they were equal, and maybe it was time for Josephine to carve space for what she and only she wanted.

“I see, Maman.” She shot a glance over at the lighter then back at their reflections, and broadened her smile.

8

Scuff was the first thing that Josephine saw when she woke up. Maman’s breathing burned the nape of Josephine’s neck, and her snoring tickled Josephine’s ears. The sensation caused her muscles to tighten from the neck down, and she extended her arm toward the nearest claw. Its length was much deeper than when she last touched it. The inside of the crack was full of jagged chips, and she blocked the light piercing through with her slow touches. Its growth excited her. The more it grew, the better the chances of the claws all connecting in the middle and splitting the brownstone in half. Or maybe the claws would hit wires in the walls, strip them of their covering, ignite a spark, and incinerate everything. The concrete and the fire would fall onto their bodies, and once the rubble was cleared away, they would reemerge and begin their lives someplace else.

Josephine retracted her hand at the height of this fantasy, for she was disturbing herself with how much destruction aroused her. A creaking from upstairs caused another vein to emerge in the crack. She thought it was growing right in front of her. She hadn’t yet wiped the crust from her eyes, but she blinked and that vein was still there. She didn’t want to move just yet. The last time she had been lying in bed with Maman was when her father left for good.

“Who’s making breakfast?”

Josephine looked over her right shoulder, and Maman was already at her desk cleaning her bifocals. The smell of bacon grease and buttered croissants overwhelmed her nostrils as soon as she faced the bedroom door.

“How would I know? I just woke up.”

“No, you didn’t.” Maman chuckled. “I don’t have to see your eyes to tell when you’re sleeping or not.” She uncapped one of her pens and shook her head with a smile. “What was on your mind?”

Josephine swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat upright. “I suppose there’s no point in lying because you’ll know when I am doing that too, huh?”

“Yes, because you just told me that you were about to tell a lie. At least be more discreet about it.”

“I’ll try harder next time,” Josephine sarcastically replied.

“You better. Hallow won’t be small forever, and you have to invent more ways to elude her the older she gets.”

“Especially with the