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

in Harlem. She’s having a lot of trouble as a teen mom. And her mom abuses her too—”

“Don’t you think this is a bit of a heavy conversation in the morning?” Josephine asked. “Food is in the kitchen. Help yourself.”

“Not really. I mean there are parallels.”

“Between the book and what?” Landon asked.

“Here.”

Landon, Josephine, and Hallow stared at Helena.

“Child abuse?” Hallow asked.

“Helena, go get something to eat,” Josephine said.

“I mean, yeah,” Helena said, and turned toward Hallow. “You don’t think what y’all do here is normal, do you? We’re dysfunctional.”

“What does that mean?” Hallow asked.

“Helena—” Josephine interjected.

“Out of whack. Broken. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone about our family. I wouldn’t. But I can’t wait to turn eighteen. The social workers here in this book help Precious—that’s the girl’s name. Maybe I can be like them. It ain’t caul selling, but it’s something.”

“Child abuse.” Hallow dropped her fork on her plate and stared at the napkin on her lap.

“God, Helena. Do you ever just shut up?” Josephine slammed her fist on the table, and everyone jumped. “I’m sorry. I—I don’t know what’s gotten into me this morning.”

“Take it easy.” Landon rubbed her back.

Hallow’s head lifted when Iris stood at the threshold between the corridor and the dining room. The ends of Iris’s teal nightgown billowed with the air that she sucked out of the room with her unforeseen arrival. She wore oversized, amber-colored lenses that softened the wrinkles around her eyes. The top half of her hair was twisted and bobby pinned; and the lower half, cluttered with many split ends, seemed to elongate in front of Hallow’s eyes whenever she raked her fingers through the strands.

“Good morning, everyone,” Iris said. Helena, whose back was facing the entrance, slowly sat upright and tightened her grip around her fork. “Breakfast seems delicious. Would’ve been nice if someone would’ve alerted me earlier, since y’all seem almost done with your food.” Iris walked to the kitchen and continued, “Either you wanted me to see for myself or you didn’t want me to join you at the table.”

Iris walked over to the side of the table where Hallow sat and winked at her as she lowered herself into her seat. Hallow beamed. Iris gave a drawn-out sigh and started pouring herself a glass of orange juice. “I don’t really give a shit if you treat me like I can’t hear the things you say, but I refuse to be a beggar in my own home.” She flicked a bit of cumin that she held between her fingers into her glass of orange juice and drank it.

“You sounded busy down there,” Landon replied.

“I’m always busy, Landon. I take it you were the one who cooked, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Hm.” She kept her eyes on him while she chewed a piece of bacon with her mouth open. “It’s good. I don’t mind my bacon with a lot of fat on it. Makes me think the swine lived a full life before the slaughter. But you should’ve cooked it longer. Bacon’s best a little burned, don’t you think?” She took another bite and chewed loudly, her mouth slightly open. “Then again, you gotta be careful with the smoke, especially in a place like this. Too much smoke and not enough attention and . . .” She blew a sharp gust of air with her mouth that made everyone jump.

“Iris, can I ask you a question?” Helena asked.

“Hmm?” Iris took another bite of her bacon.

“When I had that accident at the zoo years ago and I couldn’t find you, where were you?”

Josephine and Landon dropped their utensils on their porcelain plates and looked up.

“I—”

“We shouldn’t be having such a discussion first thing in the morning,” Josephine interrupted Iris.

“So when would be a good time? It’s been years already,” Helena said.

“Helena, drop it for now, hmm?” Landon said.

“I’m sorry. I just . . . I just feel like it was my fault, but I was just a kid and I can’t make sense of it and—”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Iris said. “It was never your fault.”

“Iris,” Josephine sternly said.

Suddenly, Iris dropped her silverware and her head slumped over her shoulders.

“Oh no,” Josephine whispered.

“Iris?” Hallow asked and gently tugged at the end of her nightgown. “You okay?”

“Stop touching her, Hallow,” Landon sternly said.

“Yeah, Hallow. Leave her alone.”

There was a buzzing sound followed by whining, but Iris’s jaw wasn’t moving. The sounds got louder, as if there were mosquitoes filling her mouth, and when she finally lifted her head, she did not look toward anyone else in the room. The ceiling was her focus. Her eyes remained fixed on the upper right corner of the room. After a moment, the sound stopped. Her lips began to move, and the words delayed.

She looked down at her plate and up at the corner of the room. “No. No, you can’t have some of my food. Why? Because you’re too little, kids. You don’t even have teeth. Your mouths aren’t even all the way there. When will they get there? They won’t, darlings. They won’t, I’m sorry. No, no, I can’t do anything about it. You left on your own, remember? You left on your own. We wanted you here. But you left. Well, I’m not the one you should be speaking to. No, no, I will not drag her into this. Because she can’t see you. She’ll never be able to see you. She’s not like me.”

“Iris, stop it.”

“You can see her. She’s beautiful, isn’t she? No, no, babies, she can’t see you. She can’t see dead people.”

“Stop it, Iris,” Josephine repeated herself.

“Oh no.” Iris began to tear up. She walked toward the corner of the room and said, “Don’t cry. It’s better this way. Look how beautiful you are. Aw.” Iris cocked her head to the side and pressed her palms together in a praying stance. “I see her in all of you.”

Josephine hurriedly poured herself the last bit of orange juice in the pitcher and kept her hand on the handle.

“Why—you have her nose. And you—you—oh. That mouth. That’s our mouth.