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

in the right direction. No one in the neighborhood would have predicted that the story would gain traction beyond Amsterdam News, but then the local CBS station reported on it, then New York magazine and Ebony, and finally the New York Times added its own layer of drama to the story. Asali’s defense team argued that the child had died almost immediately after birth, though Asali admitted that her child did open her eyes. But nevertheless, the story divided people across the city over whether or not Asali’s abandonment constituted murder and if she deserved to be charged as an adult.

“Chile, what?” Hallow asked. “This is serious.”

“It’s a shame. A pity.” Houston-born Maha popped her shoulders up and down. “But that’s none of our concern. Ain’t nobody tell her to put that baby in the trash can. She didn’t want that baby, and she could’ve gone on birth control to keep her from having a baby in the first place. You know how many people would love a child?”

“That’s not the point.” Hallow grabbed the front page and read from it, “‘In an unprecedented move from the Manhattan District Attorney’s Office, Assistant DA Amara Danville will charge Givens as an adult.’”

“As she should! It’s not like this girl simply jaywalked or toilet-papered a home—this is murder. She should be punished to the full extent of the law. I’m not understanding how any of this is relevant.” Judith, a middle-aged woman from Oakland, rubbed her temples. “What does this have to do with us? What’s done is done. And can we make this quick? I have Hamilton tickets for tonight, and I know traffic is gonna be a mess.”

“This girl was from Harlem. She was born and raised right around here. The papers say that she was from a broken family and that she had behavioral issues. What if that child could’ve lived? What if we could’ve helped her?”

Josephine, who was sitting to the right of Hallow, lowered her head and sniffled. Hallow, along with the rest of the women, directed their attention toward her.

“Sinuses,” Josephine said. “The air in here can be tough to work with, you know?”

“That’s assuming the girl wanted the child, and even if she did, it’s not like she would’ve been able to afford us,” Maman chimed in. She was seated near the fireplace, and a cane rested against the arm of her chair. Above her head was an updated painting of the Melancon family, one in which Hallow was included. A stern-faced Maman and a disarmingly smiling Hallow sat side by side in the front row, and the rest of the women—Josephine, Iris, and Helena—stood behind them.

“Exactly,” Hallow said. “She can’t afford us. When’s the last time we helped to serve anyone from our community—just anyone? We’ve had so many white people coming in and out of here, you would think it was a slave auction.”

“Hallow—” Josephine said.

“No, Mom. White folks in here. White folks out there. This whole entire block is almost white now. What are we even doing?”

“We’re having the same problem over in Oakland,” Judith said. “I can’t even tell you how much my rent has jumped these past few years, but if I wanna stay there, I gotta sell to these tech bros out in Silicon Valley, not the Black bohemians out in the west part of town. And let’s just put this out there: most Black people ain’t putting up the cash like white folks can. That’s just a fact. So are we gonna be so altruistic that we sacrifice ourselves?”

“All I’m saying is that there has to be some kind of balance,” Hallow answered.

“What balance?” Nevaeh, whose tone was as cold as the Windy City from whence she came, asked. She was only in her early forties, but her synthetic wig made her look a decade older. “We have to be more versatile nowadays. It’s not like before, where you could just have a middle person find people to help seal the deal. Now we gotta use more technology and go online and find other routes like message boards and what’s that name? Red—red . . .” Nevaeh was snapping her fingers.

“Reddit?” Hallow asked.

Nevaeh snapped her fingers once more. “There it is. And you know they are talking about us there, right? Mm-hmm, honey. Keep going down the rabbit hole of the World Wide Web. We ain’t as much of a secret as we once were. We gotta be careful.”

“A reporter was sniffing around here just last week,” Josephine said.

“A group tour was taking pictures the week before that,” Maman added. “I can’t hear any more of this. Excuse me.” Maman grabbed her cane and stumped across the living room to return to her bedroom.

“Is she always like that?” Jamellia from Detroit leaned toward Hallow and whispered to the group.

“Not always. But she has been for quite some time. I’ll check up on her later,” Hallow replied. “But anyway, ladies, let’s refocus. What are we going to do to help the Black women in our communities? There has to be more that we can do.”

“We can’t save ’em all,” Judith retorted. “You’re not even twenty-one yet, so your caul still grows. The rest of us are in our thirties and forties. There’s only so much of our cauls that we got left to give, and we can’t risk our bodies and our livelihood for situations like this. For all we know, this girl may’ve never wanted the child in the first place and smothered her with paper towels in the bathroom. You said yourself that she didn’t have a good home life. What kind of life would that child have anyway? It would’ve wound up in the projects and on government assistance.”

“You sound like Republicans who think young Black mothers are welfare queens,” Hallow said.

“I am socially liberal but fiscally conservative,” Judith proclaimed with a straightened posture and a high chin. “You have to be realistic, Hallow. You’re still very young. Listen to us.”

“I am listening, but from what I read, Asali