The Help. Part 11

"I did not raise you to use the colored bathroom!" I hear her hiss-whispering, thinking I can't hear, and I think, Lady, you didn't raise your child Lady, you didn't raise your child at all. at all.

"This is dirty out here, Mae Mobley. You'll catch diseases! No no no!" And I hear her pop her again and again on her bare legs.

After a second, Miss Leefolt potato-sack her inside. There ain't nothing I can do but watch it happen. My heart feel like it's squeezing up into my throat-pipe. Miss Leefolt drop Mae Mobley in front a the tee-vee and she march to her bedroom and slam the door. I go give Baby Girl a hug. She still crying and she look awful confused.

"I'm real sorry, Mae Mobley," I whisper to her. I'm cussing myself for taking her out there in the first place. But I don't know what else to say, so I just hold her.

We set there watching Li'l Rascals Li'l Rascals until Miss Leefolt come out, ask ain't it past time for me to go. I tuck my bus dime in my pocket. Give Mae Mobley one more hug, whisper, "You a until Miss Leefolt come out, ask ain't it past time for me to go. I tuck my bus dime in my pocket. Give Mae Mobley one more hug, whisper, "You a smart smart girl. You a girl. You a good good girl." girl."

On the ride home, I don't see the big white houses pa.s.sing outside the window. I don't talk to my maid friends. I see Baby Girl getting spanked cause a me. I see her listening to Miss Leefolt call me dirty, diseased.

The bus speeds up along State Street. We pa.s.s over the Woodrow Wilson Bridge and my jaw so tight I could break my teeth off. I feel that bitter seed growing inside a me, the one planted after Treelore died. I want to yell so loud that Baby Girl can hear me that dirty ain't a color, disease ain't the Negro side a town. I want to stop that moment from coming--and it come in ever white child's life--when they start to think that colored folks ain't as good as whites.

We turn on Farish and I stand up cause my stop be coming. I pray that wasn't her moment. Pray I still got time.

THINGS is REAL QUIET the next few weeks. Mae Mobley's wearing big-girl panties now. She don't hardly ever have no accidents. After what happen in the garage, Miss Leefolt take a real interest in Mae Mobley's bathroom habits. She even let her watch her on the pot, set the white example. A few times, though, when her mama's gone, I still catch her trying to go in mine. Sometimes she do it fore I can tell her no.

"Hey, Miss Clark." Robert Brown, who do Miss Leefolt's yard, come up on her back steps. It's nice and cool out. I open the screen door.

"How you doing, son?" I say and pat him on the arm. "I hear you working ever yard on the street."

"Yes ma'am. Got two guys mowing for me." He grin. He a handsome boy, tall with short hair. Went to high school with Treelore. They was good friends, played baseball together. I touch him on the arm, just needing to feel it again.

"How your Granmama?" I ask. I love Louvenia, she is the sweetest person living. She and Robert came to the funeral together. This makes me remember what's coming next week. The worst day a the year.

"She stronger than me." He smile. "I be by your house on Sat.u.r.day to mow."

Treelore always did my mowing for me. Now Robert does it without my even asking, never will take any money for it. "Thank you, Robert. I appreciate it."

"You need anything, you call me, alright, Miss Clark?"

"Thank you, son."

I hear the doorbell ring and I see Miss Skeeter's car out front. Miss Skeeter been coming over to Miss Leefolt's ever week this month, to ask me the Miss Myrna questions. She ask about hard water stains and I tell her cream of tartar. She ask how you unscrew a lightbulb that done broke off in the socket and I tell her a raw potato. She ask me what happen with her old maid Constantine and her mama, and I go cold. I thought if I told her a little, a few weeks ago, about Constantine having a daughter, she'd leave me alone about it after that. But Miss Skeeter just keep on asking me questions. I could tell she don't understand why a colored woman can't raise no white-skin baby in Mississippi. Be a hard, lonely life, not belonging here nor there.

Ever time Miss Skeeter finish asking me about how to clean the-this or fix the-that or where Constantine, we get to talking about other things too. That's not something I done a whole lot with my bosses or they friends. I find myself telling her how Treelore never made below a B+ or that the new church deacon get on my nerves cause he lisp. Little bits, but things I ordinarily wouldn't tell a white person.

Today, I'm trying to explain to her the difference between dipping and polis.h.i.+ng the silver, how only the tacky houses do the dip cause it's faster, but it don't look good. Miss Skeeter c.o.c.k her head to the side, wrinkle her forehead. "Aibileen, remember that . . . idea Treelore had?"

I nod, feel a p.r.i.c.kle. I should a never shared that with a white woman.

Miss Skeeter squint her eyes like she did when she brung up the bathroom thing that time. "I've been thinking about it. I've been wanting to talk to you--"

But fore she can finish, Miss Leefolt come in the kitchen and catch Baby Girl playing with my comb in my pocketbook and say maybe Mae Mobley ought to have her bath early today. I tell Miss Skeeter goodbye, go start the tub.

AFTER I SPENT a YEAR dreading it, November eighth finally come. I spec I sleep about two hours the night before. I wake up at dawn and put a pot a Community coffee on the stovetop. My back hurts when I bend over to get my hose on. Fore I walk out the door, the phone ring.

"Just checking on you. You sleep?"

"I did alright."

"I'm on bring you a caramel cake tonight. And I don't want you to do nothing but set in your kitchen and eat the whole thing for supper." I try to smile, but nothing come out. I tell Minny thank you.

Three years ago today, Treelore died. But by Miss Leefolt's book it's still floor-cleaning day. Thanksgiving coming in two weeks and I got plenty to do to get ready. I scrub my way through the morning, through the twelve o'clock news. I miss my stories cause the ladies is in the dining room having a Benefit meeting and I ain't allowed to turn on the tee-vee when they's company. And that's fine. My muscles is s.h.i.+vering they so tired. But I don't want a stop moving.

About four o'clock, Miss Skeeter come in the kitchen. Before she can even say h.e.l.lo, Miss Leefolt rush in behind her. "Aibileen, I just found out Missus Fredericks is driving down from Greenwood tomorrow and staying through Thanksgiving. I want the silver service polished and all the guest towels washed. Tomorrow I'll give you the list of what else."

Miss Leefolt shake her head at Miss Skeeter like ain't she got the hardest life in town and walks out. I go on and get the silver service out the dining room. Law, I'm already tired and I got to be ready to work the Benefit next Sat.u.r.day night. Minny ain't coming. She too scared she gone run into Miss Hilly.

Miss Skeeter still waiting on me in the kitchen when I come back in. She got a Miss Myrna letter in her hand.

"You got a cleaning question?" I sigh. "Go head."

"Not really. I just . . . I wanted to ask you . . . the other day . . ."

I take a plug a Pine-Ola cream and start rubbing it onto the silver, working the cloth around the rose design, the lip and the handle. G.o.d, please let tomorrow come soon. I ain't gone go to the gravesite. I can't, it'll be too hard-- "Aibileen? Are you feeling alright?"

I stop, look up. Realize Miss Skeeter been talking to me the whole time.

"I'm sorry I's just . . . thinking about something."

"You looked so sad."

"Miss Skeeter." I feel tears come up in my eyes, cause three years just ain't long enough. A hundred years ain't gone be long enough. "You mind if I help you with them questions tomorrow?"

Miss Skeeter start to say something, but then she stop herself. "Of course. I hope you feel better."

I finish the silver set and the towels and tell Miss Leefolt I got to go home even though it's half a hour early and she gone short my pay. She open her mouth like she want to protest and I whisper my lie, I vomited I vomited, and she say go. go. Cause besides her own mother, there ain't nothing Miss Leefolt scared of more than Negro diseases. Cause besides her own mother, there ain't nothing Miss Leefolt scared of more than Negro diseases.

"ALRIGHT THEN. I'll be back in thirty minutes. I'll pull right up here at nine forty-five," Miss Leefolt say through the pa.s.senger car window. Miss Leefolt dropping me off at the Jitney 14 to pick up what else we need for Thanksgiving tomorrow.

"You bring her back that receipt, now," Miss Fredericks, Miss Leefolt's mean old mama, say. They all three in the front seat, Mae Mobley squeezed in the middle with a look so miserable you think she about to get a teta.n.u.s shot. Poor girl. Miss Fredericks supposed to stay two weeks this time.

"Don't forget the turkey, now," Miss Leefolt say. "And two cans of cranberry sauce."

I smile. I only been cooking white Thanksgivings since Calvin Coolidge was President.

"Quit squirming, Mae Mobley," Miss Fredericks snap, "or I'll pinch you."

"Miss Leefolt, lemme take her in the store with me. Help me with my shopping."

Miss Fredericks about to protest, but Miss Leefolt say, "Take her," and fore I know it, Baby Girl done wormed her way over Miss Fredericks' lap and is climbing out the window in my arms like I am the Lord Savior. I pull her up on my hip and they drive off toward Fortification Street, and Baby Girl and me, we giggle like a couple a schoolgirls. her," and fore I know it, Baby Girl done wormed her way over Miss Fredericks' lap and is climbing out the window in my arms like I am the Lord Savior. I pull her up on my hip and they drive off toward Fortification Street, and Baby Girl and me, we giggle like a couple a schoolgirls.

I push open the metal door, get a cart, and put Mae Mobley up front, stick her legs through the holes. Long as I got my white uniform on, I'm allowed to shop in this Jitney. I miss the old days, when you just walk out to Fortification Street and there be the farmers with they wheelbarrows calling out, "Sweet potatoes, b.u.t.ter beans, string beans, okra. Fresh cream, b.u.t.termilk, yellow cheese, eggs." But the Jitney ain't so bad. Least they got the good air-condition.

"Alrighty, Baby Girl. Less see what we need."

In produce, I pick out six sweet potatoes, three handfuls a string beans. I get a smoked ham hock from the butcher. The store is bright, lined up neat. Nothing like the colored Piggly Wiggly with sawdust on the floor. It's mostly white ladies, smiling, got they hair already fixed and sprayed for tomorrow. Four or five maids is shopping, all in they uniforms.

"Purple stuff!" Mae Mobley say and I let her hold the can a cranberry. She smile at it like it's a old friend. She love the purple stuff. In dry goods, I heave the two-pound bag a salt in the cart, to brine the turkey in. I count the hours on my hands, ten, eleven, twelve. If I'm on soak the bird for fourteen hours in the salt water, I'll put it in the bucket around three this afternoon. Then I'll come in to Miss Leefolt's at five tomorrow morning and cook the turkey for the next six hours. I already baked two pans a cornbread, left it to stale on the counter today to give it some crunch. I got a apple pie ready to bake, gone do my biscuits in the morning.

"Ready for tomorrow, Aibileen?" I turn and see Franny Coots behind me. She go to my church, work for Miss Caroline on Mans.h.i.+p. "Hey, cutie, look a them fat legs," she say to Mae Mobley. Mae Mobley lick the cranberry can.

Franny bend her head down, say, "You hear what happen to Louvenia Brown's grandson this morning?"

"Robert?" I say. "Who do the mowing?"

"Use the white bathroom at Pinchman Lawn and Garden. Say they wasn't a sign up saying so. Two white mens chased him and beat him with a tire iron."

Oh no. Not Robert. Robert. "He . . . is he . . . ?" "He . . . is he . . . ?"

Franny shake her head. "They don't know. He up at the hospital. I heard he blind."

"G.o.d, no." I close my eyes. Louvenia, she is the purest, kindest person they is. She raised Robert after her own daughter died.

"Poor Louvenia. I don't know why the bad have to happen to the goodest ones," Franny say.

THAT AFTERNOON, I work like a crazy woman, chopping onions and celery, mixing up my dressing, ricing sweet potatoes, stringing the beans, polis.h.i.+ng silver. I heard folks is heading to Louvenia Brown's tonight at five-thirty to pray for Robert, but by the time I lift that twenty-pound turkey in the brine, I can't barely raise my arms.

I don't finish cooking till six o'clock that night, two hours later than usual. I know I ain't gone have the strength to go knock on Louvenia's door. I'll have to do it tomorrow after I'm done cleaning up the turkey. I waddle myself from the bus stop, hardly able to keep my eyes open. I turn the corner on Gessum. A big white Cadillac's parked in front a my house. And there be Miss Skeeter in a red dress and red shoes, setting on my front steps like a bullhorn.

I walk real slow through my yard, wondering what it's gone be now. Miss Skeeter stand up, holding her pocketbook tight like it might get s.n.a.t.c.hed. White peoples don't come round my neighborhood less they toting the help to and fro, and that is just fine with me. I spend all day long tending to white peoples. I don't need em looking in on me at home.

"I hope you don't mind me coming by," she say. "I just . . . I didn't know where else we could talk."

I set down on the step and ever k.n.o.b on my spine hurt. Baby Girl so nervous around her Granmama, she wet all over me and I smell like it. The street's full a folks walking to sweet Louvenia's to pray for Robert, kids playing ball in the street. Everbody looking over at us thinking I must be getting fired or something.

"Yes ma'am," I sigh. "What can I do for you?"

"I have an idea. Something I want to write about. But I need your help."

I let all my breath out. I like Miss Skeeter, but come on. Sure, a phone call would a been nice. She never would a just shown up on some white lady's step without calling. But no, she done plopped herself down like she got ever right to barge in on me at home.

"I want to interview you. About what it's like to work as a maid."

A red ball roll a few feet in my yard. The little Jones boy run across the street to get it. When he see Miss Skeeter, he stop dead. Then he run and s.n.a.t.c.h it up. He turn and dash off like he scared she gone get him.

"Like the Miss Myrna column?" I say, flat as a pan. "Bout cleaning?"

"Not like Miss Myrna. I'm talking about a book," she say and her eyes is big. She excited. "Stories about what it's like to work for a white family. What it's like to work for, say . . . Elizabeth."

I turn and look at her. This what she been trying to ask me the past two weeks in Miss Leefolt kitchen. "You think Miss Leefolt gone agree to that? Me telling stories about her?"

Miss Skeeter's eyes drop down some. "Well, no. I was thinking we wouldn't tell her. I'll have to make sure the other maids will agree to keep it secret, too."

I scrunch up my forehead, just starting to get what she's asking. "Other maids?"

"I was hoping to get four or five. To really show what it's like to be a maid in Jackson."

I look around. We out here in the wide open. Don't she know how dangerous this could be, talking about this while the whole world can see us? "Exactly what kind a stories you think you gone hear?"

"What you get paid, how they treat you, the bathrooms, the babies, all the things you've seen, good and bad."

She looks excited, like this is some kind a game. For a second, I think I might be more mad than I am tired.

"Miss Skeeter," I whisper, "do that not sound kind a dangerous to you?"

"Not if we're careful--"

"Shhh, please. Do you know what would happen to me if Miss Leefolt find out I talked behind her back?"

"We won't tell her, or anyone." She lowers her voice some, but not enough. "These will be private interviews."

I just stare at her. Is she crazy? "Did you hear about the colored boy this morning? One they beat with a tire iron for accidentally accidentally using the white bathroom?" using the white bathroom?"

She just look at me, blink a little. "I know things are unstable but this is--"

"And my cousin s.h.i.+nelle in Cauter County? They burn up her car cause she went down down to the voting station." to the voting station."

"No one's ever written a book like this," she say, finally whispering, finally starting to understand, I guess. "We'd be breaking new ground. It's a brand-new perspective."

I spot a flock a maids in they uniforms walking by my house. They look over, see me setting with a white woman on my front step. I grit my teeth, already know my phone gone be ringing tonight.

"Miss Skeeter," and I say it slow, try to make it count, "I do this with you, I might as well burn my own own house down." house down."

Miss Skeeter start biting her nail then. "But I've already . . ." She shut her eyes closed tight. I think about asking her, Already what, Already what, but I'm kind a scared to hear what she gone say. She reach in her pocketbook, pull out a sc.r.a.p a paper and write her telephone number on it. but I'm kind a scared to hear what she gone say. She reach in her pocketbook, pull out a sc.r.a.p a paper and write her telephone number on it.

"Please, will you at least think about it?"

I sigh, stare out at the yard. Gentle as I can, I say, "No ma'am."

She set the sc.r.a.p a paper between us on the step, then she get in her Cadillac. I'm too tired to get up. I just stay there, watch while she roll real slow down the road. The boys playing ball clear the street, stand on the side frozen, like it's a funeral car pa.s.sing by.

MISS SKEETER.

chapter 8.

I DRIVE DOWN Gessum Avenue in Mama's Cadillac. Up ahead, a little colored boy in overalls watches me, wide-eyed, gripping a red ball. I look into my rearview mirror. Aibileen is still on her front steps in her white uniform. She hadn't even looked at me when she said DRIVE DOWN Gessum Avenue in Mama's Cadillac. Up ahead, a little colored boy in overalls watches me, wide-eyed, gripping a red ball. I look into my rearview mirror. Aibileen is still on her front steps in her white uniform. She hadn't even looked at me when she said No ma'am. No ma'am. She just kept her eyes set on that yellow patch of gra.s.s in her yard. She just kept her eyes set on that yellow patch of gra.s.s in her yard.

I guess I thought it would be like visiting Constantine, where friendly colored people waved and smiled, happy to see the little white girl whose daddy owned the big farm. But here, narrow eyes watch me pa.s.s by. When my car gets close to him, the little colored boy turns and scats behind a house a few down from Aibileen's. Half-a-dozen colored people are gathered in the front yard of the house, holding trays and bags. I rub my temples. I try to think of something more that might convince Aibileen.