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A Novel
by Cynthia Bond
"Mama . . ."
"Woman look like a peppermint stick, Lord know. You yet one of Junie's pallbearers?"
Ephram nodded yes. Celia opened the kitchen door to empty the dustpan, just as a strong wind blew a mouthful of salt into her face. She spit it from her lips, wiped it from her eyes and quickly swept what was left out of the back door.
Celia turned to face Ephram, "You know Baby Girl Samuels back in town."
Ephram took a bite of eggs.
Celia wiped the table with a damp rag. "Supra Rankin say Baby arrive from New Orleans three days ago, painted up like a circus clown, wrigglin' like a mackerel all over town."
Ephram lifted his cup and plate as she cleaned. "Mama"
"I didn't say it. Supra Rankin did." Celia looked hard at Ephram, "Which is why I asked you to get my jars from Glister, since the Samuels are just past that way."
"Mama! I ain't taking that cake to Baby Girl Samuels! I ain't thought nothing about her in fifteen years." Ephram stood up. "I got to go."
"Finish your breakfast."
Ephram reluctantly sat.
Celia poured the steam back in his coffee. He ate the last of his meal as Andy Williams's rendition of "Battle Hymn of the Republic" syruped its way through the kitchen. Celia circled back to the sink, emptied water from soaking green beans, sat beside Ephram and began snapping the tips off the beans. With practiced grace she chucked the remaining pod into a pail with a hollow ting!
Without looking at Ephram she said, "Run into Miss Philomena yesterday at P & K. She asked after you."
Ephram ate quietly as the music curled under him. . . . truth is marching on . . . Celia continued, "That Miss P always be so generous. Helping all manner of folk and such."
The song infused itself into the air.
I have seen Him in the watch fires . . .
Ephram breathed it in.
The beans echoed. ting.
Celia continued, "Way she give 'way that Wonder Bread to them folks flooded out in Neches."
Ephram nodded. . . . of a hundred circling camps . . . ting.
"And her old jerky and pickles to them no count Peels." ting. ting.
. . . builded Him an altar . . .
"And don't she help out that Ruby Bell quite a bit?"
. . . in the evening dews and damps . . .
ting.
"Now that Bell gal one sad case, ain't she?"
I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps . . .
ting.
"You knowed her as chirrun, didn't you? Pretty thang she was too, with them long good braids."
Glory glory Hallelujah!
ting.
"Look like"
Glory
"she was gonna"
Glory
"come to something,"
Hallelujah!
"being raised by that White lady after Papa Bell died."
ting. "Going off "
Glory
"to New York"
Glory
"City like she done."
Hallelujah!
"Even going"
His
"to that White"
truth
"folks' school up there."
Is marching on.
ting. ting. ting.
The song faded into the wallpaper, but Celia sang on. "It's more than a sin how far she fall. Hair nappy with mud, raiment's torn and trampled. Now I hear she take to doing her pee-pee in the streets! Beggin' for scraps with crazy scratched acrost her pate. And they say what happens at night with menfolk in old Mister Bell's house would set his bones to spinnin'."
Ephram felt little dots of sweat along his temples. "Ma"
"But I don't blame them none. You know how men do. Nasty ring its bell and they come running like it's suppertime in hell. Devil got him a firm foothold in Liberty. I know. I seen firsthand what conjure can do. Folk cut down, men shriveled up like prunes. Leave a body empty of they spirit so they just a hollow thing 'til they lay down dead. Boy, I sat acrost the hearth from Satan, close as you is. Seen him stirring his big kettle a' souls over a lake of fire. I'm on a first name basis with the Devil, so I know how his mind be working, always looking out for another sinner to season his brew. So when Glister say her boy Charlie seen you eyeballin' that Bell gal ever day. Sniffin' after her, I say to her, No Sir. I raise my boy better than to eat at no Jezebel's table and I know he ain't bringing dessert."
Excerpted from Ruby by Cynthia Bond. Copyright © 2014 by Cynthia Bond. Excerpted by permission of Hogarth Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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