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

NYPD came to the brownstone, Josephine never trusted herself whenever a glass pitcher was in reach, and Hallow wasn’t sure if she forgave herself for cutting Iris, even if it was tradition. She was now thirteen and deep in the throes of puberty. The more she grew, the more she distrusted Josephine’s authority. Meanwhile, Helena could not be bothered with her. She was in her senior year, and homework and parties and college applications commanded most of her attention.

Ever since that encounter with Officer Evans, Maman had become much more paranoid and banned anyone from working at the bodega so that she could keep an eye on everyone at all times, though she still attended block association meetings. Maman wanted to know who’d called the police and why. Because she couldn’t find a culprit, she was suspicious of everyone besides Sister Evans. Sister Evans was enfeebled, and everyone knew what they would not say aloud. For the majority of several meetings, Maman scrutinized Sister Evans’s body for the caul and could not find it anywhere. Maybe, she thought, Sister Evans maintained modesty and placed it somewhere only her husband could see. But if that was the case, then why was she still hunched over? Why had her hands lost the strength needed to hold a mere teacup? Then one morning Maman got the call from Patricia. Sister Evans had finally been called home. Her husband found her in bed after she didn’t come down for breakfast despite his repeatedly calling out to her. Word was that when he found her body and realized that he’d kissed her after she had already passed away that morning, he had just enough in him to call the cops before having a stroke that paralyzed the left side of his face.

Maman contemplated sending her condolences through flowers and money, but that would have given the rest of Harlem all the affirmation they needed that she thought a homegoing service for one of the elders was beneath her, the lasting proof that she could not show compassion for another’s mortality. Besides, she needed to find out why Officer Evans never gave his beloved wife that caul. The man’s stubbornness had sent his own wife to the grave. Throughout the days leading up to the funeral, Maman roamed around the first floor absentmindedly. On the day of the funeral, Maman was shocked to find her entire household standing in the foyer, dressed in black. Her daughters had black veils over their faces, and the granddaughters wore black gloves. She wasn’t expecting for them to come, but she didn’t disinvite them either. They fetched a cab to Abyssinian Baptist Church—where Sister Evans was a member—and arrived in the middle of “His Eye Is on the Sparrow.” Because of her Catholic upbringing, Maman was not one for the loud and ecstatic services that characterized most Black Baptist churches and motioned for everyone to make a beeline for the pews farthest in the back of the sanctuary. The members of the block association saw Maman and made a come-hither movement with their hands so that the Melancon family could sit near them.

They sat in the second row directly behind Officer Evans and his children. Everyone eyed down the Melancon family as they got situated in their seats. No one had ever seen the family together at once. Even the organist quieted down as the Melancon women made their way through the congregation. Josephine shielded her face with large, black sunglasses to avoid revealing her nervousness, and Iris wore the same to avoid making eye contact with anyone whose life she could see in a flash of images.

Hallow fidgeted, and Helena busied herself with her phone that she hid inside her wristlet. Whenever the pastor called for the congregation to stand, Hallow could feel the hot breath of a parishioner sitting directly behind her burning the nape of her neck and the spittle sprinkling her earlobes from every “Praise him!” and “Jesus!”

The hands of the clock on the wall behind the pulpit did not move. Or maybe they did but not fast enough, according to Hallow. She could feel everyone staring at them, and every point on her body began to throb with pain. When Hallow observed her family and how they were able to pretend that their presence did not unnerve every last parishioner in the sanctuary, she wondered for the first time in her life if she was truly related to any one of them. Not sure if her discomfort was due to teenage hormones or something deeper, Hallow immersed herself in her thoughts throughout the service, looked toward her mother for some assurance, and found her to be a stranger. She never noticed how different her mother looked in the open and wondered now if this were the reason why Josephine seldom let Hallow outside.

From Hallow’s vantage point, she could see Iris slowly removing her right foot from her black heel and turning her knee inward, revealing her bare ankle. The boot shape was much more prominent in the fluorescent lights overhead, and when Hallow looked up at her aunt, she soon realized that she was being watched the whole time. Iris grinned at her then dropped her head. She jerked. Her neck cracked with each movement. Once the sermon and singing solo were over, the time had come for the congregation to form a long line in order to view the body. The transition provided Maman with the opportunity to inconspicuously twist Iris’s arm and spit in her left ear, “Not now.” Josephine reached into her blouse and pulled out a long strand of rosary beads. She cupped them in her hands and began to pray to God for restraint to not hurt her sister again. “Not now,” she uttered. “Not this time. Or if it will be this time, let it be from someone else. Don’t let my anger have anything to do with it.”

Officer Evans was rocking back and forth in his seat while