Read Online The Third Life of Grange Copeland by Alice Walker - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alice Walker
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beautiful because it was all they knew and a part of them without thinking about it, hers came out flat and ugly, like a tongue broken and trying to mend itself from desperation.
“Where all them books and things from the schoolhouse?” Brownfield asked one day when he wanted to see if she’d learned her place.
“I done burned ’em up,” she said, without turning from a large rat hole she was fixing in the bedroom floor.
For a moment he felt a pang of something bitter, as if he had tasted the bottom of something black and vile, but to cover this feeling he chuckled.
“I were just lookin’ for something to start up a fire with.”
“Take these here magazines,” she said tonelessly, pulling some True Confessions from under her dress. She thought he had seen the bulge of them under her arm, but he hadn’t. He reached out a hand for them and with a sigh she relinquished all that she had been to all she would become now.
Everything about her he changed, not to suit him, for she had suited him when they were married. He changed her to something he did not want, could not want, and that made it easier for him to treat her in the way he felt she deserved. He had never had sympathy for ugly women. A fellow with an ugly wife can ignore her, he reasoned. It helped when he had to beat her too.
There was a time when she saved every cent she was allowed to keep from her wages as a domestic because she wanted, someday, to buy a house. That was her big dream. When she was teaching school they both had saved pennies to buy the house, but when he was angry and drunk he stole the money and bought a pig from some friends of his who promised him the pig was a registered boar and would be his start in making money as a pig breeder. Mem cried when he came home broke, with the pig. Then the pig died. The second time she saved money to buy the house he used it for the down payment on a little red car. She was furious, but more than furious, unable to comprehend that all her moves upward and toward something of their own would be checked by him. In the end, as with the pig, his luck was bad and the finance company took the car.
The children—there were two living, three had died—did not get anything for Christmas that year. On Christmas Eve they sat around and watched him until he ran out of the house to see if Josie would give him money for a drink. When he got home he woke the children and cried over them, but when he saw they were afraid of him he blamed Mem. When she tried to defend herself by telling him the children were just frightened of him because he was drunk he beat her senseless. That was the first time he knocked out a tooth. He knocked out one and loosened one or two more.
She wanted to leave him, but there was no place to go. She had no one but Josie and Josie despised her. She wrote to her father, whom she had never seen, and he never bothered to answer the letter. From a plump woman she became skinny. To Brownfield she didn’t look like a woman at all. Even her wonderful breasts dried up and shrank; her hair fell out and the only good thing he could say for her was that she kept herself clean. He berated her for her cleanliness, but, because it was a small thing, and because at times she did seem to have so little, he did not hit her for it.
“I ain’t hurting you none,” she said, pleading with something in him he kept almost suppressed, and he let the matter drop.
“Just remember you ain’t white,” he said, even while hating with all his heart the women he wanted and did not want his wife to imitate. He liked to sling the perfection of white women at her because color was something she could not change and as his own colored skin annoyed him he meant for hers to humble her.
He did not make her ashamed of being black though, no matter what he said. She had a simple view of that part of life. Color was something the ground did to flowers, and that was an end to it.
Being forced to move from one
“Where all them books and things from the schoolhouse?” Brownfield asked one day when he wanted to see if she’d learned her place.
“I done burned ’em up,” she said, without turning from a large rat hole she was fixing in the bedroom floor.
For a moment he felt a pang of something bitter, as if he had tasted the bottom of something black and vile, but to cover this feeling he chuckled.
“I were just lookin’ for something to start up a fire with.”
“Take these here magazines,” she said tonelessly, pulling some True Confessions from under her dress. She thought he had seen the bulge of them under her arm, but he hadn’t. He reached out a hand for them and with a sigh she relinquished all that she had been to all she would become now.
Everything about her he changed, not to suit him, for she had suited him when they were married. He changed her to something he did not want, could not want, and that made it easier for him to treat her in the way he felt she deserved. He had never had sympathy for ugly women. A fellow with an ugly wife can ignore her, he reasoned. It helped when he had to beat her too.
There was a time when she saved every cent she was allowed to keep from her wages as a domestic because she wanted, someday, to buy a house. That was her big dream. When she was teaching school they both had saved pennies to buy the house, but when he was angry and drunk he stole the money and bought a pig from some friends of his who promised him the pig was a registered boar and would be his start in making money as a pig breeder. Mem cried when he came home broke, with the pig. Then the pig died. The second time she saved money to buy the house he used it for the down payment on a little red car. She was furious, but more than furious, unable to comprehend that all her moves upward and toward something of their own would be checked by him. In the end, as with the pig, his luck was bad and the finance company took the car.
The children—there were two living, three had died—did not get anything for Christmas that year. On Christmas Eve they sat around and watched him until he ran out of the house to see if Josie would give him money for a drink. When he got home he woke the children and cried over them, but when he saw they were afraid of him he blamed Mem. When she tried to defend herself by telling him the children were just frightened of him because he was drunk he beat her senseless. That was the first time he knocked out a tooth. He knocked out one and loosened one or two more.
She wanted to leave him, but there was no place to go. She had no one but Josie and Josie despised her. She wrote to her father, whom she had never seen, and he never bothered to answer the letter. From a plump woman she became skinny. To Brownfield she didn’t look like a woman at all. Even her wonderful breasts dried up and shrank; her hair fell out and the only good thing he could say for her was that she kept herself clean. He berated her for her cleanliness, but, because it was a small thing, and because at times she did seem to have so little, he did not hit her for it.
“I ain’t hurting you none,” she said, pleading with something in him he kept almost suppressed, and he let the matter drop.
“Just remember you ain’t white,” he said, even while hating with all his heart the women he wanted and did not want his wife to imitate. He liked to sling the perfection of white women at her because color was something she could not change and as his own colored skin annoyed him he meant for hers to humble her.
He did not make her ashamed of being black though, no matter what he said. She had a simple view of that part of life. Color was something the ground did to flowers, and that was an end to it.
Being forced to move from one
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