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“I haven’t made up my mind,” she said. “I’m not saying you can stay on. Not permanently. But you don’t have to leave today.” He fell into her, wrapping his arms so tightly around her she had to fight to catch her breath. She managed to free one arm, which she wrapped around his back, pulling his sobbing head into her bosom. “Shhh . . .” She comforted him just as she might Robinson. “Shhh . . .”
Jilo laid the hen down on the wide, bloodstained tree trunk they’d been using as a chopping block, her subconscious saying a prayer her conscious mind would rebel against, for the beast about to die at her own hand. She held the bird tight and swung the hatchet hard, doing her best to make sure the hen didn’t suffer. The body kicked a few times, but did not, much to her relief, find its feet and take off running. She’d seen that happen once when she was girl, and it had put her off chicken for nearly a year.
“Willy,” she called out. He came out the back door and down the steps, carrying a pitcher of water and a kitchen towel. Without being prompted, he poured water over her outstretched hands till they were as clean as hands that had just taken a life—of any kind—ever could be. He handed her the towel, and she wiped her hands dry. “You finish plucking her, then singe off the fuzz.” He nodded. “There’re matches and some newsprint in the drawer in the kitchen. You know which one?” He nodded again. Of course he knew. He’d lived with them for nearly a year now. This, she realized, was his home. “You be careful. Don’t burn yourself. And make sure you keep the fire good and far from the house. You hear me?” He nodded a third time. She realized he was afraid to speak lest he say something that would change her mind. She reached out, letting her fingers brush his cheek, and said, “When you’re done, bring it in. I’ll cut it up and get it ready for frying.”
She heard the cry of the front screen door, announcing Binah’s return. Oiling the door never worked, and it occurred to her for the umpteenth time that she ought to have the thing replaced, but at this point it would almost be like losing an old, if annoying, friend. She went in through the kitchen, where Robinson seemed content enough sitting in his high chair and banging a wooden spoon against its tray, and headed down the hall. She stopped before the open bedroom door. Binah sat on her bed, the contents of her book bag spilled out around her. Jilo entered the room and closed the door behind her.
“Please tell me you aren’t in love with that boy.”
“In love with what boy?” Binah looked up at her, one arched eyebrow and a confused smile on her face. Her eyes widened as meaning of Jilo’s question seemed to dawn on her. “Willy?” She began laughing, then her laughter stopped abruptly, and any signs of amusement fell from her face.
Jilo folded her arms across her chest and nodded at the chifferobe where she kept her clothes. “You know about him, don’t you?”
Binah’s look of concern faded, her mouth pursing and her brows edging downward. She pushed herself up from the bed and stood directly before Jilo. “Yes,” she said, and paused. “I know. And if you’re telling me you didn’t, at least deep down, then you’re lying to both of us.”
Jilo looked away, casting her gaze at the floor near Binah’s feet. She took a step back, reaching behind her, and opened the door. “Willy,” she called loud enough to make sure the boy would hear her out in the yard, even though she suspected that he was lurking nearby, straining his ears to hear what they were saying, rather than cleaning the bird like she’d asked. “Bring Robinson and get in here.”
“What are you doing?” Binah asked, a fierce, protective tone in her voice.
Jilo felt a tiny bit proud of her baby sister, who seemed to have transformed into a fierce mama lion ready to defend her cub. She didn’t say a word till Willy appeared in the do
orway, Robinson in his arms.
Willy’s face looked ashen. His lips were trembling, and his eyes looked like the dam was going to burst at any moment. Jilo pulled Robinson into her own arms. “You can stop with all that. I’m not,” she said, then paused. “We’re not sending you away.” The boy looked up, his expression brightening, but still cautious. “Now get in here.” Willy stepped across the threshold, his shoulders slumped forward, still expecting the other falling foot to crush him.
Jilo shifted Robinson onto her hip, then lugged the ever-growing boy over to the chifferobe. After tugging open both doors, she turned back to face Binah and Willy. “I still don’t understand this. Any of this,” she said, “but then again, there’re a whole hell of a lot of things in this world I don’t understand.” She cast a quick glance down at her own boy, hoping that she was doing right by him, then returned her gaze to Willy. “Out there”—she nodded toward the door—“you won’t be safe if folk were to learn about this. There are a lot of people who’d want to kill you. You understand me?”
“Yes ma’am,” Willy said.
If his expression weren’t so grave, Jilo might have snorted over his calling her ma’am. But it was, so she didn’t. Instead, she swallowed, forcing herself to soften her tone. “Maybe someday, some place, things will be different. For your sake, I hope so. But for now, that’s what we can expect. In here, though, with that door closed, you’re safe. You do what you need to do.” She crossed back to the chifferobe. “These things on the left side.” She made a show of running her hand down the garments. “You can have them. They don’t fit me anymore anyway. The things on the right, though? Those are mine. Do not touch them.” She paused, casting a glance down at the boy’s feet. “And Willy?”
“Yes,” he said, his eyes welling up again, from relief, she hoped, or maybe even happiness.
“You scuff up or stretch my shoes, and everything I just said about you being safe is off. I will kill you myself.” His face froze. “Just so we’re clear.” She closed the chifferobe’s doors and headed back into the hall. She gave Robinson a slight bounce, then looked back over her shoulder. “Now get out here and help me finish making dinner while Binah does her schoolwork.”
The three of them sat on the wide front porch, beneath the artificial haint-blue sky. Beyond the porch’s overhang, night was fast approaching, replacing the blue with brilliant roses and oranges. Before today, Jilo would never have dreamed of nursing in front of Willy, who was sitting on the porch with his back to the front wall, but tonight they all felt like family. So while she rocked on the swing next to Binah, Jilo undid the buttons of her blouse and shifted her fussing baby to her exposed breast.
As Robinson nursed, Willy and Binah chattered on. Mostly about how bad they needed to buy themselves a television, so they could watch I Love Lucy along with the rest of the country.
Jilo used the ball of her foot to rock the swing back and forth. She looked down at Willy. “You already spend half your life listening to that damned radio.” Jilo was both annoyed and pleased that he’d forgotten how tenuous his living situation had been only hours ago. “Besides, if we don’t find a way to start getting some money in around here,” she said, giving voice to her own more pressing worry, “we may not have anywhere to put a television set.”
Binah locked eyes with her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean we have to pay taxes on this place. We don’t pay taxes, they’ll come and take the house away from us.”
“Who are ‘they’?” A vertical line formed between Binah’s brow, and her eyes narrowed. “This was Nana’s house. Now it’s ours. Nobody has the right to try and steal it from us.”
“The law. That’s who ‘they’ are. The law. And ‘they’ say we’re stealing from them if we don’t pay taxes. They take from us, and then they tell us we’re the thieves. That’s how it works, my sister,” Jilo said, regretting that she had brought the subject up. A tumultuous day had led into a pleasant—happy, even—evening. She should have held her tongue. It was just that she had begun to feel mighty alone when it came to dealing with the problems that life kept bringing.
“What about that fat woman? The one who smelled?” Willy asked.
Jilo pursed her lips, her nose wrinkling as she remembered the woman’s sharp onion scent. “She didn’t believe that I have any of the ‘root’ in me.” Jilo said, shifting Robinson to her other breast. He fussed a little as she did, but he settled down as soon as he realized dinner wasn’t over.
“But nobody does,” Binah said, her eyes bright with humor. “There’s no such thing as magic.”
“Yeah, well, you know that, and I know that, but if we’re lucky, the rest of the world isn’t going to figure that bit out.” She pushed the swing back again, then let go. “She said she could see I didn’t have the Hoodoo because of the way I look. The way I talk.” Jilo felt the woman’s words grate at her once again. “She said I was just ‘another uppity Negro.’ ”
“She didn’t believe in you . . .” Willy said in a hushed voice. Jilo twisted to get a better view of him. “She couldn’t believe in you, ’cause you didn’t match what she was expecting to see.” He stared forward into the deepening twilight. “Sometimes you just gotta show folk what they want to see.”
