Rubies from Burma Read online

  You can’t marry Duke Radford, she said, because I’m going to. She kept brushing, flipping, her hair falling like curling silk.

  You are not.

  Just watch me, she said, with another stroke of the brush. I will have him.

  You can’t have them all, I said.

  You want to bet? She just laughed.

  I won’t let you.

  You silly kid. Go to sleep.

  The next morning Ava told me she didn’t have any clean church clothes so she would stay home and have Sunday dinner ready for us when we got home. Of course Momma had already cooked it the day before except for the corn sticks, and Ava knew how to fix those.

  So what’s Chap gonna say about church? I said.

  He can’t make me, she said. I’m sixteen. I’m not his property.

  So are you Duke Radford’s property?

  I am my own property, she said.

  Chap was sitting at the breakfast table in his suit and tie reading the Macon Telegraph as he did every Sunday that ever came around. I slid into my place. The birds outside on the wire were jumpy, flying up and settling back down. I split two crispy biscuits and roped cane syrup over them and helped myself to bacon and some peaches.

  Ava wandered in her pink housecoat that billowed like a sail and kissed Chap on the cheek and sat down and got some biscuits.

  How was your date last night? he said.

  Duke is a fine gentleman, she said. And kind and considerate.

  An officer and a gentleman, Chap said. You couldn’t do better than that.

  Momma didn’t say anything but I could see her eyes were sparkling. I hear he’s a wonderful young man, she said.

  Kinda old, for you, though, said Chap.

  Twenty-two, said Ava. Graduated from Georgia Tech in Industrial Management.

  I won’t have him takin’ advantage, Chap said. A girl in your position has to be careful.

  What position is that? said Ava, tossing her curls.

  You know what I mean. I’m a mechanic for his daddy at the plant. He is not our kind of people, Chap said.

  I stopped eating syrup and biscuits then. Money was talked about a lot in our house, mostly that there was never enough of it. Chap used to have a repair shop but lost it when somebody sued him and he had to take the job at Radford Industries. Momma had gone back to teaching second grade and we moved to this rented house. I didn’t remember our last house but they talked about it a lot. It had a picket fence and roses and was closer to town and Momma grieved over losing it.

  Ava told of her plan to stay home and Chap sat up very straight. You will not stay in this house alone. You will not miss church. His look was so dark she stuck out her lip but I guess she thought better about smarting off.

  I’m gonna stay home, he says, and see who comes by.

  I sat in the John Wesley Methodist Church chewing on my nails the whole time Pastor Ben Higgins was preaching on THE GATES OF HELL, according to the board outside. It was hot and the windows were cracked open at the bottom from the stained glass leaning in, except we didn’t have but two stained glass windows and the rest green milky glass. People were fanning with fans with Jesus on them holding a lamb in his arms.

  Nobody knows what hell looks like, said Pastor Ben Higgins, but I think it is a dark place. We know it is a place where glowing, red coals of fire are heaped on the head of hapless sinners. Get right with the LORD! Remember Jesus loves you! He will gather you to his bosom!

  Ava looked bored and pouted, like she couldn’t wait to get home, but she knew all the boys were looking at her the way they never would look at me, slinky and shifty and hardly daring to breathe. Ava showed she knew she was being looked at in the way she sat, in the way she lifted her hair in back. She wasn’t listening to talk about sin.

  When we got home Chap was out in the garage working on his favorite project, and he came out and wiped his oily hands on a rag and said, Guess who showed up to collect the rent? Hah!

  Well, said Ava, shrugging, I told him to come back when you were here.

  That man must have radar in his head, said Chap, to know I was here when all of Christendom is supposed to be at church.

  So you paid him the rent, what about it?

  Get out of here, missy smart mouth, before you get switched.

  You would not dare lay a hand on me.

  He thought about it. No, he said, but ask me for a few bucks and see what happens. She gave him a black look and flounced away. Chap wiped his forehead. That child will be the death of me, he said.

  No, Chap, no, I said. It scared me when he said things like that.

  It’s just an expression, he said.

  The whole week they just tiptoed around each other and no gentlemen at all came to call. I wondered what Chap had said to Hardy Pritchard.

  Saturday Chap and Elmo went out again; this time they were out looking for parts for Chap’s project. Almost every Saturday they were either doing some repair jobs on the side, or working on Chap’s project in a barn out at Elmo’s farm or in the garage. They were building an airplane. Chap had learned how to fly in the big War and had had a dream to build his own plane ever since.

  I was crunching the sugary top on cinnamon toast and Momma was telling me my grandmother Mimi was coming to see us when Ava walked in dressed in her flouncy yellow skirt and her yellow shoes with the fat heels and her white blouse with the poofy sleeves.

  Where do you think you’re going? Momma said with a spatula in her hand.

  I just want coffee. I’m going to town to look for a job.

  A job.

  Yes, ma’am. Chap said he won’t give me any money.

  What kind of a job?

  Woolworth’s maybe.

  Chap will have a fit, Momma said.

  I don’t see why.

  Why don’t you do what he tells you?

  I do, most of the time, but Momma, if I’m going out with Duke Radford I need some better clothes.

  Momma thought for a minute and put the spatula down. Better clothes, she said.

  Ava pouted. What if he wants to take me home to meet his family? How can I go in some old homemade outfit?

  The serpent’s tooth, said Momma under her breath. You thankless child.

  Oh, you sew good, Momma, but we have to buy cheap material, 59 cents a yard.

  I do my best. Maybe you ought not to get ideas above you.

  You don’t really mean that, Momma. Don’t you want to see me in a big fine house with a Cadillac car and a maid and a cook and a—

  I need to go lie down, said Momma. Take Mae Lee with you to town.

  Mae Lee? She’ll just be in the way.

  I looked at her then. I made a motion, two fingers up together like somebody smoking a cigarette and grinned. Ava’s face looked black as thunder because she knew I had been snooping and found her cigarettes under her bras. I am bad to snoop, everybody tells me, but I just want to know things and nobody will tell me because I’m a kid.

  She just nodded and grabbed my arm and we went out the door. Almost as soon as we were out of sight of the house she lit one up. Holy Jesus, Mae Lee, she said.

  Momma ought to wash your mouth out with soap, I said.

  Shut up, she said.

  The yellow skirt flared around her knees as she clicked along the sidewalk. I pattered after her, short legs flying to keep up with her clicking shoes. Houses gave way to stores and then sidewalks filled with people, jostling fronts and rears, blue bags and red baskets and calico bundles, dark people and light people smelling ripe from the sun. Then I lost her.

  I stood terrified in the swirling crowd.

  I felt a hot moist breath on the back of my neck. I wheeled around and I was looking at a big gray nose attached to a mule tied to a parking meter and behind the mule there was a wagon. The mule drew back his teeth like he was going to bite and I jumped back.

  Hee, hee, somebody said.

  Willie Pennyman was slapping his knee. Scairt of ol’ mule, he said.

&n
bsp; Shut up, Willie, I said, fanning myself to cool down. See if we buy any more barbecued chickens from your daddy.

  I ain’t worried, he said. Your daddy do love them chickens.

  Go on, Willie, I said.

  We see you tonight, he said. We have them chickens ready for your delectation.

  I elbowed through the crowd and found myself standing in front of what looked like a tunnel. People were hunched over on stools and the red tips of cigarettes glowed, smoke drifting out. Maybe it was Hell.

  A sign at the entrance read LUNCH 5 cents.

  A hand gripped my shoulder and I screamed. Then I saw the red nails. Where have you been?

  Where have you been? I could tell she was plenty mad. Let’s go, she said.

  Ava. I think that is Hell.

  She threw back her head and laughed. It’s a beer joint, you ninny.

  She didn’t let go of my elbow till we got to Woolworths. It felt funny to be creaking across the oiled wooden floors, the store smelling of popcorn and candy and perfume, rows of bins down the aisles crammed with sparkly treasures. Ava handed me a nickel. Go shopping, she said, while I go see the manager.

  The candy counter at the front of the store was my first stop. My mouth watered over chocolate creams, licorice whips, red and white peppermints, gumdrops, jelly beans, caramels. I bought four cents worth of jellybeans because you got a lot of them, and one chocolate cream.

  You could see people passing through the plate glass window and I stood there eating my chocolate cream and who did I see but Hardy Pritchard. He was walking along with a lady who looked very refined, as Momma would say, in the way she dressed and carried herself. I decided it might be a fine thing to be refined and I wondered how you got that way.

  I peeked out the door and saw them go into the bank on the corner.

  Just about then Ava came up behind me. What are you doing, twerp?

  Oh, just checking the weather, I said.

  I can tell you. Hot today, hot tomorrow. No rain in sight, no job in sight. He said he didn’t need anybody right now.

  So we can go home?

  Maybe the dress shop needs somebody, she said.

  So we went down the sidewalk and stared in Rosenberg’s window at a red dress with polka dots and red shoes to match. Just my style, Ava said. We went in and talked to a lady with black and gray hair and a rose colored dress with lace around the collar and she said, my dear, I got so much family to employ. Let me take your name just in case.

  Back on the sidewalk heat was really rising and my hands were sticky from the chocolate and jelly beans.

  How about the bank, I said, the devil in my soul. Maybe you could be a bank teller.

  She just glared at me. You have to be good at math, she said. Let’s try The Paris Emporium. She set off so fast she didn’t see the Help Wanted sign in the window of the drugstore we were passing. I grabbed her hand. Look, look, I said.

  Ick, she said, pulling her hand away. Mae Lee, you’re sticky. You’re hopeless. And I don’t want to work in a drugstore.

  You know, I really should have kept my stupid mouth shut.

  Chapter Three

  She couldn’t go to the Paris Emporium with sticky hands.

  Inside the drugstore a high ceiling fan cooled the medicine-smelling air. A smell of bacon and coffee floated over from the lunch counter, where three men ate hunched on stools. Ava went to the thin redhead with frizzy hair behind the counter and asked her for a wet napkin.

  You want to order something, Ava? She handed it over.

  Thanks, Vernile, but not right now. She wiped her hand and then mine. She nodded her head toward the window. Just out of curiosity, what about that job?

  It’s behind the counter here. Jimmy up and joined the Navy. Go on back and see Doc Weir. A new customer sat down and said, Hey, Vernile, how about a Coke?

  I got to go, she said.

  Ava shrugged and I followed her past shelves full of witch hazel and iodine and mercurochrome, peroxide and bandages, soap and toothpaste and cologne, shaving cream and shaving brushes. Doc Weir stood behind a counter in back and when he saw Ava coming his way he accidentally hit the scale in front of him and set it swinging.

  She told him her name and explained that she was inquiring about the job.

  The bristly moustache twitched. But do you have any experience? he said.

  This stopped her short. I cook a lot at home, she said. I know how to make grilled cheese and club sandwiches.

  I opened my mouth in surprise and was going to say, No you do not, but she gave me such a look.

  Hum, he said.

  I’m a fast learner, she said before he could say anything else. What’s the pay?

  You’re Chap Willis’s girl. Ain’t you in school?

  Not for another month, she said, and I could come in after class.

  Let me see your hands, he said, and she held them out and he nodded. You ain’t engaged?

  No, sir, she said.

  You have a beau, he said.

  You might say that, she said, and I was not sure if it was the right or wrong thing to say.

  I don’t like my girls to flirt with the customers.

  No, sir.

  He cocked his head to the side and I swear he was looking at her bosoms. That remains to be seen, Mis’ Ava. You come in tomorrow and we’ll see about a uniform.

  You haven’t yet told me what the pay is.

  Thirty cents an hour to start. More if I see you work hard.

  She appeared to be thinking it over. Yes, sir, she finally said. I’ll be here.

  We went up to the counter and Ava ordered us Cokes. We were sitting on the stool drinking them when guess who should come in the door but stupid Hardy Pritchard. He slid onto the stool next to Ava and grinned like the snake he was.

  Whatcha doin’, Mis’ Ava.

  Oh, that smile and dimple. I just got a job, thank you very much.

  Gimme a cherry dope, Vernile, he said.

  Vernile gave him the fish eye. I didn’t know you liked cherry dopes.

  I like anything sweet, he said. Like Ava here.

  The door opened with a jingle and in came the lady I had seen him talking to. Oh, there you are Hardy, she said. I wondered where you got off to.

  I got tired of waiting for you, he said, looking up at the list of ice cream flavors in black letters stuck in a white board.

  The lady carried a white patent leather pocketbook in her hand. She had been to the beauty parlor, I could tell, because her light brown hair was all in perfect waves against her head and she had that perfumy smell about her. She wore a neat linen dress and looked delicate, like a field flower. Oh, Hardy, she said. I’d like some ice cream, but there’s nowhere to sit.

  He slid down. Take my seat, hon, he said, but he didn’t look happy.

  We’re just leaving, Ava said, tossing that mane of hair. She paid Vernile and I slurped the last of my Coke and slid the glass on the counter and we jingled out through the door.

  Who was that lady? I asked on the way home.

  She hooted and giggled. That was Mis’ Celia Pritchard, she said, and she was once a debutante in Savannah, and they say she is holier than the Pope.

  His sister you mean?

  His wife, she said.

  Who is the Pope?

  God, Mae Lee don’t you know anything?

  I won’t if nobody answers my questions. Why did you take that job? I asked. I thought you didn’t want to work in the drugstore.

  She shrugged. I changed my mind. I thought it might be fun.

  A horn beeped behind us and it was Dotty, Ava’s friend from school. She gave us a ride home in her Chevy and all Ava could talk about was the drugstore and the folks she was going to see when she worked there.

  I resolved to find out about this Pope business but I didn’t get a chance because by the time we got home Mimi was there.

  When I ran into the kitchen Mimi and Momma stopped talking and had that look on their faces like they had been say
ing something we weren’t supposed to hear. Mimi sat at the kitchen table, her big carpetbag beside her, smoking a cigarette in a holder, and Momma was at the counter slicing tomatoes. My sweet Mae Lee, said Mimi, and I made a face. She smooched me on the cheek and I wanted to rub off the red but didn’t know if I’d hurt her feelings so I let it stay. I’ve been telling your momma she needs to go to the doctor.

  They could talk through me all day. I said, Mimi, what did you bring us? Pickles, said Mimi, green tomato pickles. There were three jars on the table. She twisted one open with a pop and the pungent smell tickled my nose. Now we can have them for lunch, she said. Your momma says she didn’t have the energy for pickles this year.

  Momma didn’t say anything but started slapping mayonnaise on light bread.

  If it’s the money, Walter will help you out, Mimi said.

  It’s not the money, Momma said.

  Walter had a good crop, she said. Bought me a Cadillac. Used, but still.

  Ava came in just then. She had changed to a pair of shorts and a blouse. She kissed Mimi and got lipstick on her cheek too. Cadillac? she said. She went over to the back door, hands on her hips, and looked out at the car. One day I’m gonna have one of those. A new one.

  You thinking of marrying a Vanderbilt, honey?

  She turned around and smiled. Better than that, she said.

  Mimi stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray and looked at Ava and nodded. I think you will, she said.

  If she doesn’t mess it up, Momma said.

  He’s crazy about me, Ava said.

  So who is this fella with all the dough?

  Ever hear of Radford Industries?

  Oh, yeah, they make work pants and all that.

  Well, his daddy owns it and he’s gonna run it someday, Ava said.

  Sounds all right, said Mimi. A very eligible bachelor.

  He’s in the army right now, she said. You can meet him tonight.

  He’s the most wonderful man I ever saw, I said.

  Well, listen at her, said Mimi. You’d think she’s sweet on him herself.

  She is, Ava said. Lot of good it will do her.

  Momma set ham sandwiches on the table oozing with Miracle Whip and juicy tomatoes. Now Ava, be sweet, she said.

  I got a job, said Ava, and Momma and Mimi both looked at her at the same time.