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

“Josephine? Josephine?” Helena, who had entered the home through the back door, softly rocked her body from side to side. “Jo?”

Josephine raised her eyes to the ceiling, where her decorations were not stained with dampness, and shook her head. “What?” She recognized Helena’s voice, but she refused to believe that she was so preoccupied that she could not hear the front door being opened or—hopefully—that same door being knocked down. She refused to believe that she hadn’t heard footsteps climbing up the steps and into her bedroom. Helena had not been by her side since she was a child, and now that she was free, there was no cause for her to return.

“Jo, it’s me, Helena. I’m here. We have to get you up.”

“No, leave me alone. You have better things to do. What about that whole doula thing? Go there. Go to them. Leave me here. I’m best to stay here.”

Helena shook her head. “I can’t go back, Jo. I can’t. Come on, we don’t have a lot of time.”

“What are you talking about?”

With her hand on Josephine’s shoulder and the other on the small space between her aunt’s back and the sheets, Helena took a beat and said, “They found out about Hallow first. She found her mother, Josephine. You won’t believe who it is. Amara Danville.”

Josephine laughed then broke down into tears. “Now I really have no one.”

“You have me. You can’t stay here, Jo. You have to leave with me. We gotta go, like, now.”

“And why the hell do I have to do anything?”

“Because the people outside are gonna tear this place up soon. Do you finally want to be free of here or not?”

Helena looked out the window and saw that the sky was already a mélange of colors—orange, pink, brown, yellow, and blue. The lights from nearby homes and the headlights of cars were already on. Her heart galloped. She swallowed and reluctantly went down two flights of stairs into the basement with that last glimmer of hope that she could save at least one member of her family. As she crept to the lower level, she heard Ella Fitzgerald crooning in the background. The smell of the air transformed from its usual staleness to that of fresh eucalyptus and lavender. Helena didn’t hear Iris’s usual mutterings, although she did hear the sound of latches being disengaged and feet moving back and forth. The door to her mother’s bedroom was left wide open. Her bed was stripped of its sheets and linen, and all the drawers were pulled out. The stacks of books and vinyl records were gone; only nicks on the walls were the vestiges of them having ever been there.

When Helena turned the corner, she found Iris, whose silvery hair was pulled back into a slick bun and her nails manicured. She was leaning on her love seat and languorously smoking a long pipe, relishing the curlicues her exhales produced in the air and watching with satisfaction as they disappeared. She was dressed in a wine-red double-breasted wool trench coat and matching hat, fishnet stockings, and black leather pumps. Helena had never seen Iris look this sharp. Two large suitcases were near her feet, and a large tote bag sat beside her. She turned her head to the side and said, “You want to join me?” She extended the cigarette to her. Helena sat next to her mother and had a drag, quivering in her body from its fill.

“Good, isn’t it? I haven’t taken it out in a long time. I only use it for special occasions.”

“Special occasion?”

Iris blew and rested her elbow on the opposite knee. “I’ve heard the news. Hallow finally found her mother, and things came full circle. I was wondering when anyone was going to say anything, but since they haven’t, I thought I might as well make arrangements anyway.”

“So you’re not going to stay.”

“I thought about it. I did. But I never was like Maman and Josephine. I was marked from the moment Maman neglected to make that caul tea for me. I know that no matter where I’ll be, I’ll never be alone. And since the business ’bout to be gone and no one’s summoning me to be cut, well . . .” Iris blew again. “I can move on. Do like you did. Move away, take on an alias. Don’t you see, my sweet Helena?” She cupped Helena’s check in her palm and said, “You’re my dream.”

Helena touched her mother’s hand and tilted her face farther into her palm. “Mom, but how will you make a living?”

“I hadn’t thought that far.”

They laughed in unison.

“Did you ask yourself how you would make a living?” Iris asked.

“No.”

“No, right? You just did it. Well . . . same difference. Sometimes you gotta just go. And I’ve been here long enough already.”

“Are you already packed?”

“Not quite. I still have a little more to go. You wanna help me?”

“Yes, because we don’t have much time. The crowd outside is getting crazy. Where do you want me to help?”

“In the bedroom. In the drawers. I might have missed some things, and we may have to double-check.”

“On it.” Helena sprang to her feet and went into the bedroom. She began to sift through the many miscellaneous papers in the drawers, but none seemed quite as important as the rose-gold wrapping paper in the bottom drawer. Its ridges were neither ruffled nor torn. Helena was not sure how long this wrapping paper had been there, but she inferred that there had to be something valuable enveloped within. She touched the wrapping paper and got nervous. She glanced at the bedroom door, which she’d left open, and realized that Iris had left her alone to search. She peeled one corner of the paper back and stopped breathing. Slowly, Helena removed the entire paper and saw a photo of herself at the Bronx Zoo that was taken from a distance. Beholding this photo transported Helena back to the quest for Iris