champagne and poured.
“If I get a bellyache it’s y’all’s fault.”
“This is delicate stuff,” said Tadpole.
“Well, my stomach ain’t been used to delicate.”
Tadpole laughed. I drank. Then I said, “Honey, I think I’m going upstairs. I’m a little tired.”
“Awright, baby,” he said, frowning.
Cat was looking at me, but I didn’t look at her.
“So long, Cat,” I said, without looking at her, to make it sound right.
“Sure, see you around,” Cat said.
I got up from the stool.
“All women just married act funny?” I heard Tad ask.
“Yeah,” Cat answered.
It was a short time after I came up that there was a knock on the door. I knew who it was before she opened.
“Can I come in?” she asked.
“You already are,” I said. I was sitting on the bed, getting out of my stockings. I laid them on the chair, then I took them off the chair, and put them on the bed beside me. Cat came in and sat down in the chair. I didn’t look up at her at first. Then I looked up at her. She was looking at me calmly, but I could tell she was hurt. I was hurt too. She was sweaty from drinking.
“You look flushed,” I said.
She said nothing. Then she said, “I heard you in there that morning.” Her voice was steadier than I thought it might be, all the time I’d imagined such a talk.
“Did you?” I said. I had nothing else to say.
“It was easier not to let you know I heard you then,” she said.
I said nothing this time.
“I want you to know I heard you now.”
“What does it matter?” I asked.
“Don’t make me feel clumsier than I already do,” she said.
“I didn’t know you felt that way,” I said coolly now.
She said nothing.
“Do you feel good treating me this way?” she asked.
“No, I don’t feel good about any of it,” I said.
There was silence. She sat looking at me. I’d stopped looking at her again. I could feel her flutter as if she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. I wouldn’t make it easy. I waited.
Then she said finally, “You don’t know what it’s like to feel foolish all day in a white woman’s kitchen and then have to come home and feel foolish in the bed at night with your man. I wouldn’t a mind the other so much if I didn’t have to feel like a fool in the bed with my man. You don’t know what that means, do you?”
I said nothing. She was crying but they were dry tears.
“I wanted to be able to come home to my own bed and not feel foolish. You don’t know what it feels like.”
She was looking at me, expecting something. She wanted me to tell her that I knew what it was like, but I wouldn’t tell her. Yes, I know what it feels like. I remembered how his shoulders felt when he was going inside me and I had my hands on his shoulders, but I also remembered that night I was exhausted with wanting and I waited but he didn’t turn toward me and I kept waiting and wanting him and I got close to him up against his back but he still wouldn’t turn to me and then I lay on my back and tried hard to sleep and I finally slept and in the morning I waited and still he didn’t and I thought in the morning he would but he didn’t and I waited but the clock got him up and he went off to work and I lay there still waiting. I was no longer even angry with waiting. I just lay there saying don’t make me use my fingers, and then I got up too. Yes, I could tell her what it feels like. Do I have to wait until in the morning? Don’t punish me this way. What’s a husband for? Don’t you feel like a man? And wanting to cry and not wanting him to see me and turning over against the wall until sweat came out of my eyes but never wanting him to hear me cry.
“I didn’t wont to be a fool in front of them and then have to come home and be a fool with him too. Couldn’t even get in my own bed and not be a fool and have him making me feel like a fool too.”
Two swollen plums for eyes. What are you doing to the girl? I wanted to ask. What about
“If I get a bellyache it’s y’all’s fault.”
“This is delicate stuff,” said Tadpole.
“Well, my stomach ain’t been used to delicate.”
Tadpole laughed. I drank. Then I said, “Honey, I think I’m going upstairs. I’m a little tired.”
“Awright, baby,” he said, frowning.
Cat was looking at me, but I didn’t look at her.
“So long, Cat,” I said, without looking at her, to make it sound right.
“Sure, see you around,” Cat said.
I got up from the stool.
“All women just married act funny?” I heard Tad ask.
“Yeah,” Cat answered.
It was a short time after I came up that there was a knock on the door. I knew who it was before she opened.
“Can I come in?” she asked.
“You already are,” I said. I was sitting on the bed, getting out of my stockings. I laid them on the chair, then I took them off the chair, and put them on the bed beside me. Cat came in and sat down in the chair. I didn’t look up at her at first. Then I looked up at her. She was looking at me calmly, but I could tell she was hurt. I was hurt too. She was sweaty from drinking.
“You look flushed,” I said.
She said nothing. Then she said, “I heard you in there that morning.” Her voice was steadier than I thought it might be, all the time I’d imagined such a talk.
“Did you?” I said. I had nothing else to say.
“It was easier not to let you know I heard you then,” she said.
I said nothing this time.
“I want you to know I heard you now.”
“What does it matter?” I asked.
“Don’t make me feel clumsier than I already do,” she said.
“I didn’t know you felt that way,” I said coolly now.
She said nothing.
“Do you feel good treating me this way?” she asked.
“No, I don’t feel good about any of it,” I said.
There was silence. She sat looking at me. I’d stopped looking at her again. I could feel her flutter as if she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. I wouldn’t make it easy. I waited.
Then she said finally, “You don’t know what it’s like to feel foolish all day in a white woman’s kitchen and then have to come home and feel foolish in the bed at night with your man. I wouldn’t a mind the other so much if I didn’t have to feel like a fool in the bed with my man. You don’t know what that means, do you?”
I said nothing. She was crying but they were dry tears.
“I wanted to be able to come home to my own bed and not feel foolish. You don’t know what it feels like.”
She was looking at me, expecting something. She wanted me to tell her that I knew what it was like, but I wouldn’t tell her. Yes, I know what it feels like. I remembered how his shoulders felt when he was going inside me and I had my hands on his shoulders, but I also remembered that night I was exhausted with wanting and I waited but he didn’t turn toward me and I kept waiting and wanting him and I got close to him up against his back but he still wouldn’t turn to me and then I lay on my back and tried hard to sleep and I finally slept and in the morning I waited and still he didn’t and I thought in the morning he would but he didn’t and I waited but the clock got him up and he went off to work and I lay there still waiting. I was no longer even angry with waiting. I just lay there saying don’t make me use my fingers, and then I got up too. Yes, I could tell her what it feels like. Do I have to wait until in the morning? Don’t punish me this way. What’s a husband for? Don’t you feel like a man? And wanting to cry and not wanting him to see me and turning over against the wall until sweat came out of my eyes but never wanting him to hear me cry.
“I didn’t wont to be a fool in front of them and then have to come home and be a fool with him too. Couldn’t even get in my own bed and not be a fool and have him making me feel like a fool too.”
Two swollen plums for eyes. What are you doing to the girl? I wanted to ask. What about
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