darlin’.
Bald Horace filled her in on the details of finding Mickey Moe in the goat pen.
My, my, she said. And now it’s gettin’ on to suppertime. I better drive the boy home before his people send folks out lookin’.
Bald Horace agreed. Relieving her of the groceries, he told her he’d put up the peas and grits while she was gone.
Just don’t touch my chicken parts, she said. I’ve got some clever ideas for them tonight.
Throughout all this, Mickey Moe sat mute as a stone and remained so until he was installed in Aurora Mae’s Buick sedan, a sparkling boat of a car the color of old money. He was surprised a Negro woman drove such a remarkable vehicle. He huddled against the door of the passenger side, because she scared him just a little. A minute later, curiosity conquered fear. He ventured to speak.
Is this car your very own? he asked. Or does it belong to someone you work for?
Aurora Mae chuckled in her odd baritone.
Oh no, son. It’s mine. All mine. And I work for myself, too. No boss over me, don’t you know. None at all.
He burned to ask her what she meant, but her tone of voice shut him up quick. As far as he knew, all Negroes in those days in that part of the world had a boss. A boss or a landlord who owned the farm they worked. They rode in silence to the end of his street where Aurora Mae stopped.
You need to walk the rest of the way, boy. You can manage that, can’t you? You ain’t too mangled up?
Mickey Moe shook his head and exited the car.
I don’t mean to be rude, she continued through an open window. But your mama doesn’t exactly like me, and it might be best to keep knowledge of our acquaintance from her. If you don’t mind. You owe Bald Horace that much, don’t you? For lookin’ out for you?
Mickey Moe screwed up his face in consternation. He’d never kept anything from his mama before. Nothing important.
Aurora Mae smiled her big, toothy grin.
You look just like your daddy that way. My, but that man knew how to mark a child.
The boy’s chin dropped, as much for the mere mention of his daddy from out of that particular mouth as for the stupefying assessment that he favored him.
You knew my daddy, too?
I knew him better than anybody. Alive or dead.
Then quick as that, Aurora Mae rolled up her window, executed a perfect three-point turn in the middle of Orchard Street, and peeled off down the road back toward the village in a cloud of orange dust.
Knew him better than anybody. Alive or dead. The way she’d said it, the way she left so sudden directly afterward, informed Mickey Moe that he’d best not ask anyone what she meant, at least any white person of his ken whether within his family or without. He decided sure as heck right then and there that he’d seek Aurora Mae out again, at the earliest opportunity, and ask her exactly what she’d meant.
Unfortunately, his decision was as ephemeral as any other an adolescent makes. Within the next two days, he asked Sara Kate, Roland, and Bald Horace pointed questions about his daddy’s relations with Aurora Mae. Each of them gave him a blank look and changed the subject. On repeated queries, they pretended not to hear. When he insisted, Bald Horace got up in his face. Son, I’d like to help you, but I don’t know much. Aurora Mae comes and goes on the wings of birds. Even when she’s here, she keeps her business to herself. On the third day, Cora Gifford gave him his first kiss and parted her lips when she did. The focus of his thoughts changed so radically that Aurora Mae took up residence in the deepest chambers of his consciousness for nearly a dozen years, until circumstances demanded that she burst forth with all the glorious might of Athena when she charged newborn from out the skull of Zeus.
IV
Greenville, Mississippi, 1962
L AURA A NNE LOVED HER DADDY. She was a good girl, had been all her life. She was a good girl because it was the way her mama raised her, but also in greater part because she loved her
Bald Horace filled her in on the details of finding Mickey Moe in the goat pen.
My, my, she said. And now it’s gettin’ on to suppertime. I better drive the boy home before his people send folks out lookin’.
Bald Horace agreed. Relieving her of the groceries, he told her he’d put up the peas and grits while she was gone.
Just don’t touch my chicken parts, she said. I’ve got some clever ideas for them tonight.
Throughout all this, Mickey Moe sat mute as a stone and remained so until he was installed in Aurora Mae’s Buick sedan, a sparkling boat of a car the color of old money. He was surprised a Negro woman drove such a remarkable vehicle. He huddled against the door of the passenger side, because she scared him just a little. A minute later, curiosity conquered fear. He ventured to speak.
Is this car your very own? he asked. Or does it belong to someone you work for?
Aurora Mae chuckled in her odd baritone.
Oh no, son. It’s mine. All mine. And I work for myself, too. No boss over me, don’t you know. None at all.
He burned to ask her what she meant, but her tone of voice shut him up quick. As far as he knew, all Negroes in those days in that part of the world had a boss. A boss or a landlord who owned the farm they worked. They rode in silence to the end of his street where Aurora Mae stopped.
You need to walk the rest of the way, boy. You can manage that, can’t you? You ain’t too mangled up?
Mickey Moe shook his head and exited the car.
I don’t mean to be rude, she continued through an open window. But your mama doesn’t exactly like me, and it might be best to keep knowledge of our acquaintance from her. If you don’t mind. You owe Bald Horace that much, don’t you? For lookin’ out for you?
Mickey Moe screwed up his face in consternation. He’d never kept anything from his mama before. Nothing important.
Aurora Mae smiled her big, toothy grin.
You look just like your daddy that way. My, but that man knew how to mark a child.
The boy’s chin dropped, as much for the mere mention of his daddy from out of that particular mouth as for the stupefying assessment that he favored him.
You knew my daddy, too?
I knew him better than anybody. Alive or dead.
Then quick as that, Aurora Mae rolled up her window, executed a perfect three-point turn in the middle of Orchard Street, and peeled off down the road back toward the village in a cloud of orange dust.
Knew him better than anybody. Alive or dead. The way she’d said it, the way she left so sudden directly afterward, informed Mickey Moe that he’d best not ask anyone what she meant, at least any white person of his ken whether within his family or without. He decided sure as heck right then and there that he’d seek Aurora Mae out again, at the earliest opportunity, and ask her exactly what she’d meant.
Unfortunately, his decision was as ephemeral as any other an adolescent makes. Within the next two days, he asked Sara Kate, Roland, and Bald Horace pointed questions about his daddy’s relations with Aurora Mae. Each of them gave him a blank look and changed the subject. On repeated queries, they pretended not to hear. When he insisted, Bald Horace got up in his face. Son, I’d like to help you, but I don’t know much. Aurora Mae comes and goes on the wings of birds. Even when she’s here, she keeps her business to herself. On the third day, Cora Gifford gave him his first kiss and parted her lips when she did. The focus of his thoughts changed so radically that Aurora Mae took up residence in the deepest chambers of his consciousness for nearly a dozen years, until circumstances demanded that she burst forth with all the glorious might of Athena when she charged newborn from out the skull of Zeus.
IV
Greenville, Mississippi, 1962
L AURA A NNE LOVED HER DADDY. She was a good girl, had been all her life. She was a good girl because it was the way her mama raised her, but also in greater part because she loved her
Similar Books
