A Piece of Mine (12 page)

Lord! Ain’t these rolls good! My Lord! Have some more chile!

T
HIS
story started somewhere else until I discovered it had two beginnings, so I had to tell you this one also
.

Having raised two children—a man and a woman now—and been married thirty years to the same man, Vilma was tired, tired, tired. She was far gone.

Her son, though raised as upper middle class and given every advantage such as college, etc, had chosen street corners, dope and wine and unemployment. She had to watch him when he came to the house because she knew he needed money and he would steal it from her and if not
it
, then something to get
it
with.

Her daughter, having the same advantage, chose to love someone, or several someones, who gave her babies, three now, all different colors. They had left her and she was being subsidized by the government each month. She often brought the kids to stay with their grandmother so she could go out and try to get another one that she would surely bring over in some future time. Vilma loved her grandchildren, but she was tired, tired, tired.

Then her husband, having his own little business that did
quite well, had plenty time to fool around with other women, and this he did. Their sex life was out there in the street, left behind him at some other woman’s house. So Vilma was tired. Tired of the cooking, washing, cleaning, and shopping and paying bills and Christmas dinners, she cooked, Thanksgiving dinners she cooked and cleaned up after, everybody else gone off with their happy asses and she, mama, left alone in the middle of a mess of mess.

Consequently, though Vilma believed in God, she didn’t believe in Him enough for it to hold her together. Because she had heard so many loose-living people put the Bible down, she wasn’t sure, so she turned to other things like alcohol, cigarettes, pills for sleeping and best of all, books. But she was looking like hell about now. Too much alcohol was ruining her face, her skin, eyes and, well, it’s really poison, you know.

One day, Vilma got hold of one of these Bible aid books and, reading it, she realized she had always known, just never realized: her children were way past old enough to be responsible for themselves and had made all their own choices and she was not called upon to be there to hold a place for them to use when they needed it, and that her husband was an adulterer and she did not have to stay with him and suffer in this way.

It took about two weeks for Vilma to get her head clear and turn daydreams into plans (she noticed that with every plan her need for alcohol was less and soon she didn’t even need sleeping pills). Vilma went down to the lawyer’s and filed for divorce and went home. They advertised in another state for him because they didn’t know him, you know how a big city is, and after all the legalities were over, she went to court and got her divorce granted, though her husband never knew. Then she went to the bank and put half the money in an account of her own, traded her automobile, a new one with payments, on an older one with no payments—a little convertible so she could see more and
not feel caged in. Packed her bag, wrote a note telling her ex-husband he could stay there until he heard from her, sent a copy to her lawyer. Then, hitting the highway, she decided to follow the sunrise, and did! The next year she followed the sunset and that’s where this other story begins.

*                            *                            *

The sound came before the car did and Jacob kept right on pruning his trees. Cars and people didn’t pass here often, but when they did, so what! He had his business to tend to. When the sound stopped in front of his house, he didn’t look up right away, just sighed and straightened up and looked toward the place where the sound had been. It was a neat little convertible with a new looking older woman in it. She smiled and the angels kind of sang.

“Evening!” She waved.

“Evening!” He returned as he wondered what she was doing on this road. It was off the main road and was seldom used. Since his wife had died two years ago and his son had moved to the city, there were few visitors.

“May I have some water, please? My car is hot and dry and I am hot and dry!” She smiled again.

“Sure.” He put down his pruning tool. “But you betta leave it running if you gonna put water in it!”

“Oh! She’ll be alright! I treat her right, she treats me right! Where’s the water?”

“You want inside water or outside water? Got a well round back.” He pointed up the driveway.

“Outside water, well water!” she smiled.

“Where you heading?” he asked as they walked toward the back of the fine old house through a clean orderly yard.

“Everywhere and nowhere!” She bounced the words over her shoulder.

“I mean, now?” he asked again, pleasantly.

“I do, too! I’m only here because I was following the sunset, it was so lovely and it’s almost gone, then the car got
hot and dry and, you know the rest!” she ended as they reached the well. She helped herself, handling the bucket easily.

“Yeah, these days are hot!” he admitted.

“Hmmm, hmmm,” she agreed drinking water from the dipper.

“These nights are hot, too,” he mused, then realized she was a woman and really looked at her body for the first time. She was small-boned, but not thin. He guessed she was in her late forties or early fifties. Casual but neat, hair plainly pulled back and clipped, nice around her makeup-less face. She saw him looking and said, “Where’s your wife? In the house?”

“In heaven.” He looked up toward the sky.

“How you know she’s in heaven?”

“She was a good woman, a good person, a good wife. Where your husband?” A hint of humor in his voice.

“In hell, whether he’s living or dead!” She put the dipper down. “I just decided to leave.”

“Hadda been me, I wouldn’t of let you go!” He smiled.

“He didn’t ‘let’ me go, I just did!” She took the water can he handed her.

“A divorce?” he pursued.

“Who cares?” she laughed. “I’m free! For the first time in my life,
FREE!
And enjoying it! Wanting more of it! I will never bind myself to anything or anybody again!” Her eyes met his as she spoke and he was looking so intently at her, her laughter melted into the breeze. She looked at the sky. “I better hurry, it’s getting dark fast!” Turning to go, she noticed the little cottage under the trees.

“Who lives there?” she asked.

“Nobody. My son used to like to stay there. He’s gone now living in the city.” He slapped at a mosquito flying near her.

“Can I see it? Will I hold you up? You don’t have to walk with me, I don’t want to keep you from your work.” She said
all these things as she set the water can down.

“So what?” he answered, smiling and started walking toward it.

It was lovely, shady and cool at the cottage under all these tall pine and fat Sycamore trees, leaves floating here and there, and the sound of huge limbs loaded with leaves waving and rustling in the wind. Vilma looked up for the birds she knew were there and when she found them, she loved the house. It was as simple as that. Sometimes she longed for a home, like this one, away and free like she was, all by itself.

He saw her face and her joy in the cottage and realized he was enjoying her company, any company.

“It’s dark,” he said, “you going far?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to find somewhere to sleep!” Her jubilance returned.

“You like this cottage? Sleep here!”

“Oh, I’d love to!” she cried, “but I can’t pay you much.”

“So what? Don’t pay me nothin!”

She looked him dead in the eye. “Nothing means nothing!”

“So what! House just sitting here. Clean! I’ll get you some sheets and you make the bed and brush up a little, it be alright. Ain’t nothing gone bother you out here … and that ole kerosene lamp is full, give you all the light you need!” He remarked to himself he was sure saying a lot of words.

“I know it, I love it!” She almost clapped her hands, then held herself serious. “But I’m serious. If you don’t take the little bit of money I can offer you, there is nothing else I can give you.” She looked him straight in the eyes again.

“So what?” He waved his hand at her. “I’d like to have somebody out here again. Maybe you’ll stay to breakfast in the morning. I’m a good cook and we can talk some!” He started out the door. “I’ll get the sheets and bring you some fresh water.”

“I’ll get the water!” She did clap her hands. “And I’ll get my things out of the car.” She went past him. “And don’t
worry, I’ll leave it neat and clean in the morning!”

He laughed at her, rusty laughter, bottom laughter; wherever it came from, it was happy to be let out. Happy laughter. His step picked up. “So what?” he almost shouted.

Vilma locked the door that night with the crude wooden bar but she needn’t have bothered, he didn’t come near until the next morning and then he was bringing coffee.

“I know how city people like coffee first thing! Your breakfast is on the table, soon as you get there.” And he was gone, leaving the coffee on the small steps.

She had slept naked between the country-smelling sheets, now she lay there after getting the coffee and looked out the window at the huge tree trunks, listening to the leaves, the birds and insects, sounds they make early in the mornings. She noticed a spider crawl from a crack to see her better. “Don’t worry ole Ms. Spider, I’m not going to bother your home. You leave me alone, I’ll leave you alone.” The spider sat there a minute more, then decided to believe her and went on back to its business in the crack.

Vilma walked around the little house after she packed her little suitcase again. It was lovely. She patted the house and said, “Thank you for a lovely night!” Then she went in to breakfast.

“Hey?” she called from outside the screendoor.

“Come on in!” he answered.

“Say, I don’t know your name,” she said as she looked over the neat house, like a woman still lived here, she thought.

“Jacob … Jacob Harley,” he said softly but proudly.

“Ohhh Weee!” she laughed. “You
CAN
cook!!!”

“Sure!” he smiled.

“Probably better than me!” She sat down.

“So what? What’s better?” He sat hot biscuits on the table beside the ham, scrambled eggs and grits, syrup, jam and yellow watermelon. “What’s your name?”

“Vilma.”

“Just Vilma?”

“Vilma is all I need.”

“Let’s say the blessing, one-name Vilma, and let’s eat!”

She did and they did, then breakfast was over and she sat there while he did the dishes, telling him what she had seen in her travels.

She told him she had finally seen a mountain and that it was a monument to God, also. She had seen two oceans, the Pacific and the Atlantic. She had seen a mountain made of stone that looked like Cochise might come around it any moment. And how the sky was different in every state. She had seen great trees, which were her favorite, almost, of anything that grew. She had been to museums and seen some of the world’s greatest treasures … they were treasures, but if she had to choose what to take home with her, well, she would take an ocean, or a mountain, or a tree … Then he was through and they walked outside to the backyard and she picked up her suitcase she had left there.

“I cleaned up after myself,” she smiled.

“So what?” He put a foot up on a stump and crossed his arms on his knee.

“I really did appreciate last night. Thank you very much.”

“Well, what you leavin for then?”

“Enough is enough,” she spoke as she contemplated the ground.

“So what? What’s enough?” Though smiling, he looked so serious.

“You didn’t expect me!” she smiled back.

“So what?” He sure could look at a person hard.

“So, I’m taking up your time!” She tried to keep smiling and felt the heat of the sun on her teeth.

“So what?” He wouldn’t let up at all.

“Is that all you know how to say? So what?” She was uncomfortable. She started walking away.

“If you ain’t going nowhere special or don’t know where you going, why don’t you stay in that little house awhile?” He raised his voice.

She stopped and, turning to him, took a deep breath and said, “You don’t know me!”

“So what?”

“So, I’m a stranger to you!”

“So what? I ain’t asking you to move in with me.” The humor returned to his voice. “Just use the cottage!”

Vilma looked at the cottage a moment. “I don’t have much money!”

“Don’t need much!” he smiled.

“I can’t pay you any rent.” Her voice was low.

“So what? Ain’t no rent! I dont owe nothin on it, so neither do you!” He smiled again.

“Welllll.” Vilma took a few steps toward the cottage.

“Now. That’s better!” He reached for her suitcase. She pulled back.

“Now, I’m not going to be no second-hand wife.”

“So what?” he smiled gently.

“I mean it! And I am not cooking!”

“So what?”

“I’m not doing any kind of work!”

“So what?” He reached again for the suitcase.

“And I’m sleeping in the cottage and you are sleeping in that house … every night!” She pointed as she spoke, seriously.

“Alright!” he answered with patience.

“I am not going to make love with you, Jacob.”

“So what? Vilma, I didn’t ask you to.” He took the suitcase and walked her back to the cottage.

And that day she got settled in. They passed each other, now and then, but didn’t talk; he just smiled, she looked concerned, but happy … and she was.

Over one breakfast, which he cooked, he said, “You gonna get tired out here with nothing to do.”

“Oh, no I’m not. I’ve been waiting all my life for nothing to do!”

“You just going to sleep?” he continued.

“No! There’s plenty to do. Besides,” she laughed, “So what?”

She decorated the cottage with flowers and leaves, planting wild flowers in bottles and jars and hanging them around the eaves of the little house. Rocks were made into designs around the yard with novel pieces of wood. Feathers were made into bouquets in odd little containers. She had improvised a bird bath and to her great delight, the birds used it. She visited the fat brown cows and petted their warm skins and shooed flies away from their eyes. She fed the chickens and had a favorite rooster that she felt was so dressed-up in his checkered-looking black and white suit with the sharp red hat, he walked like he owned the chickenyard. She called him Highstepper, and he began to answer her call. A cat from somewhere attached itself to her; it came every morning and she fed it, then they sat together each with their own thoughts till each evening the cat would go away to something somewhere of its own.