nowhere near Bigelow or Arkansas. The wind was blowing wrong, causing a backdraft to come off of the canning plant. It was mackerels then. It seemed every year the plant was canning something new. This year it’s mackerels, and from time to time the smell of discarded fish parts traveled the few miles and settled thick as smoke in and around the towns that bordered Ashton. It didn’t remind nobody of the sea. That smell reminded people of an unwashed woman.
That’s all Pearl needed after what she saw yesterday. The smell of an unclean woman traveling around her nose and seeping in the cushions of her couch. Unwelcomed. That’s what it was. The smell and the woman across the way.
Pearl was up early and was moving about the house doing nothing really, just waiting for the sun to come up full in the sky and then her job as wife would begin. The house was quiet except for the soft padding of her slippered feet against the wood and the linoleum-lined kitchen. There was the even breathing of her sleeping husband permeating the background. The kettle was on the stove and the water jumped and bubbled against the heat inside the tin structure. Pearl looked into her cabinet, and there were five teacups now instead of six. She reached for one and her feet carried her to the window. She hadn’t meant to go there. Not right then. Not so soon in the morning. But she was there tugging once, twice and then the shade gave in suddenly and snapped up and out of her hand. Pearl jumped and dropped her teacup. There are four teacups now.
What she saw surprised her. Surprised him. The two of them; him on the outside passing between the houses, leaving his size twelve shoeprint in the wet earth, green jacket hanging over one arm and shirt half undone, revealing dark tight curls of hair on his chest. He glowed pale beneath the approaching dawn. He was smiling, thinking about what had just been done to him, over and over again. But the smile was frozen and unnatural when Pearl saw it. The crash of Pearl’s teacup got him moving again, unfroze the stupid contented smile on his face. He stared hard at her, nodded his head and mouthed “Mornin’.”
Pearl nodded back and pulled her thin, yellow robe around her. Looking into his eyes chilled her. A scream scrambled to the base of her throat. She threw her hand over her mouth and gagged instead.
She was at the front door before he rounded the front of the house, and she couldn’t stop herself from grabbing hold of the cold metal doorknob and swinging the heavy door wide open. She stepped out on the porch and caught sight of him as he stepped into the green and white 1955 Bel Air Sports Coupe. Had Joe been witness to this, he would have whistled long and loud at the automobile. It was fine and slick.
The engine revved up just as the sky began to pale and then it was shooting past Pearl. She watched until the car blurred and then disappeared.
Something just wasn’t right about a white man on Grove Street, in a fancy car, leaving a black woman’s house in the early morning hours. Something just wasn’t right. It was as foul as the raw air that was picking up potential with the morning sun.
T here was too much activity on the normally quiet Grove Street. Cars were coming and going, filled with men, a few with women—two, three, four times—up and down the street, people hanging out the windows and pointing at #10 Grove Street, wanting to catch a glimpse of the naked woman.
Joe nodded and waved at the people as they went by. Happy to see them at first and then confused as to why they were there at all, driving past his house over and over again. He waved one man over. “What ya’ll doing?” he asked, scratching his head in bewilderment. He asked his question and then looked up at a truck filled with watermelon pulling up on the opposite side of the road. Customers were already lining up.
“You don’t know?” the man said with a laugh.
“Nope,” Joe replied and looked back at his
That’s all Pearl needed after what she saw yesterday. The smell of an unclean woman traveling around her nose and seeping in the cushions of her couch. Unwelcomed. That’s what it was. The smell and the woman across the way.
Pearl was up early and was moving about the house doing nothing really, just waiting for the sun to come up full in the sky and then her job as wife would begin. The house was quiet except for the soft padding of her slippered feet against the wood and the linoleum-lined kitchen. There was the even breathing of her sleeping husband permeating the background. The kettle was on the stove and the water jumped and bubbled against the heat inside the tin structure. Pearl looked into her cabinet, and there were five teacups now instead of six. She reached for one and her feet carried her to the window. She hadn’t meant to go there. Not right then. Not so soon in the morning. But she was there tugging once, twice and then the shade gave in suddenly and snapped up and out of her hand. Pearl jumped and dropped her teacup. There are four teacups now.
What she saw surprised her. Surprised him. The two of them; him on the outside passing between the houses, leaving his size twelve shoeprint in the wet earth, green jacket hanging over one arm and shirt half undone, revealing dark tight curls of hair on his chest. He glowed pale beneath the approaching dawn. He was smiling, thinking about what had just been done to him, over and over again. But the smile was frozen and unnatural when Pearl saw it. The crash of Pearl’s teacup got him moving again, unfroze the stupid contented smile on his face. He stared hard at her, nodded his head and mouthed “Mornin’.”
Pearl nodded back and pulled her thin, yellow robe around her. Looking into his eyes chilled her. A scream scrambled to the base of her throat. She threw her hand over her mouth and gagged instead.
She was at the front door before he rounded the front of the house, and she couldn’t stop herself from grabbing hold of the cold metal doorknob and swinging the heavy door wide open. She stepped out on the porch and caught sight of him as he stepped into the green and white 1955 Bel Air Sports Coupe. Had Joe been witness to this, he would have whistled long and loud at the automobile. It was fine and slick.
The engine revved up just as the sky began to pale and then it was shooting past Pearl. She watched until the car blurred and then disappeared.
Something just wasn’t right about a white man on Grove Street, in a fancy car, leaving a black woman’s house in the early morning hours. Something just wasn’t right. It was as foul as the raw air that was picking up potential with the morning sun.
T here was too much activity on the normally quiet Grove Street. Cars were coming and going, filled with men, a few with women—two, three, four times—up and down the street, people hanging out the windows and pointing at #10 Grove Street, wanting to catch a glimpse of the naked woman.
Joe nodded and waved at the people as they went by. Happy to see them at first and then confused as to why they were there at all, driving past his house over and over again. He waved one man over. “What ya’ll doing?” he asked, scratching his head in bewilderment. He asked his question and then looked up at a truck filled with watermelon pulling up on the opposite side of the road. Customers were already lining up.
“You don’t know?” the man said with a laugh.
“Nope,” Joe replied and looked back at his
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