the family, but he makes up for it in all kinds of little ways, and he's always praising my singing to other people. Daddy said he thought Charles had plenty of common sense beneath all that book learning, and then too at the wedding Daddy said he thought Charles was a good man.
We came back home on Saturday and on the way Mama read to us out of a pamphlet she got in a drug store. It was about having a Christian home and the husband's role and the wife's role. I thought it made good sense, but Charles goes into a sermon right there in the back seat about customs being different in Bible times — which is not the point.
After we got back from the beach, and Charles got his rods separated out, and we drove on home and unpacked, and finished eating supper — some chili I froze before we left — Charles says, "I think I'll call Johnny." I had totally forgot to say anything about the vent or ask Charles if Johnny was a minority, but before I could say anything, Charles was on the phone, talking about the beach trip. I was eating peaches for dessert and it didn't seem like Charles minded me sitting there listening.
"She's got blue hair," he said, "and talks more than anybody I ever met." He was talking about you know who: Aunt Naomi, and eyeing me while he sat there, twisting the curly black phone cord around his finger. Then Johnny must have asked Charles what I looked like. "What does she look like?" said Charles, and looked at me and winked. "The most beautiful eyes I've ever seen, some kind of blue-green, and her front two teeth tuck back just enough to make her mouth cute, kind of pouty, and besides all that, she has the purest singing voice ever — can bend a note on a country song as good as any blues singer you ever heard.... What? No. No bad habits. Wait a minute. Raney, would you please leave the room?" Then he laughed and said I cussed too much which was a flip-flop because Charles is the one who cusses, and then he said the only fault he could think of was I didn't give him any warning when I started a song and that I rubbed my nose straight up with the flat palm of my hand, but that was cute. Then he said none of my other faults were my fault.
I thought about going to the bedroom and listening through the vent, but that wouldn't have been fair. Maybe it would have been fair if Charles was my child. Mama read my mail; but it was for my own interest. She said she wasn't interested from curiosity, but for the sake of my well-being. So since Charles won't my child and did have a peculiar reaction about privacy which I don't understand, I decided I should tell him about the vent when he finished talking. But he talked so long. He told about the fish hook in Norris's nose and then went through Uncle Nate's spelling lesson almost word for word and then some more about Aunt Naomi. He had good things to say about Daddy and Aunt Flossie.
When they finished talking, Charles said Johnny said hello.
I asked Charles what I dreaded: " Charles, is Johnny a minority?"
"He's black, if that's what you mean."
A picture flashed in my mind of Mama and Daddy and Mary Faye and Norris and Uncle Nate and Aunt Naomi and Aunt Flossie and maybe a child of ours in the living room with Charles and his best friend, a nigger.
"Did you say something to him about coming here?" I asked.
"No, not tonight. Why?"
"I just wondered."
"Would that be a problem?"
"I don't guess so."
"You don't guess so?"
"Well, Charles, I know you were in the war together and everything but this ain't exactly the war."
"What does that mean?"
"It means — "
"What does that have to do with our friendship?'
"Nothing, but — "
"Then why are we talking about this?"
"Charles. The army has been segregated since 1948, you said, but Listre still has the black laundromat and the white laundromat and nobody complaining — neither side. Johnny might get embarrassed downtown, that's all I'm worried about."
"You mean the army has been integrated since
We came back home on Saturday and on the way Mama read to us out of a pamphlet she got in a drug store. It was about having a Christian home and the husband's role and the wife's role. I thought it made good sense, but Charles goes into a sermon right there in the back seat about customs being different in Bible times — which is not the point.
After we got back from the beach, and Charles got his rods separated out, and we drove on home and unpacked, and finished eating supper — some chili I froze before we left — Charles says, "I think I'll call Johnny." I had totally forgot to say anything about the vent or ask Charles if Johnny was a minority, but before I could say anything, Charles was on the phone, talking about the beach trip. I was eating peaches for dessert and it didn't seem like Charles minded me sitting there listening.
"She's got blue hair," he said, "and talks more than anybody I ever met." He was talking about you know who: Aunt Naomi, and eyeing me while he sat there, twisting the curly black phone cord around his finger. Then Johnny must have asked Charles what I looked like. "What does she look like?" said Charles, and looked at me and winked. "The most beautiful eyes I've ever seen, some kind of blue-green, and her front two teeth tuck back just enough to make her mouth cute, kind of pouty, and besides all that, she has the purest singing voice ever — can bend a note on a country song as good as any blues singer you ever heard.... What? No. No bad habits. Wait a minute. Raney, would you please leave the room?" Then he laughed and said I cussed too much which was a flip-flop because Charles is the one who cusses, and then he said the only fault he could think of was I didn't give him any warning when I started a song and that I rubbed my nose straight up with the flat palm of my hand, but that was cute. Then he said none of my other faults were my fault.
I thought about going to the bedroom and listening through the vent, but that wouldn't have been fair. Maybe it would have been fair if Charles was my child. Mama read my mail; but it was for my own interest. She said she wasn't interested from curiosity, but for the sake of my well-being. So since Charles won't my child and did have a peculiar reaction about privacy which I don't understand, I decided I should tell him about the vent when he finished talking. But he talked so long. He told about the fish hook in Norris's nose and then went through Uncle Nate's spelling lesson almost word for word and then some more about Aunt Naomi. He had good things to say about Daddy and Aunt Flossie.
When they finished talking, Charles said Johnny said hello.
I asked Charles what I dreaded: " Charles, is Johnny a minority?"
"He's black, if that's what you mean."
A picture flashed in my mind of Mama and Daddy and Mary Faye and Norris and Uncle Nate and Aunt Naomi and Aunt Flossie and maybe a child of ours in the living room with Charles and his best friend, a nigger.
"Did you say something to him about coming here?" I asked.
"No, not tonight. Why?"
"I just wondered."
"Would that be a problem?"
"I don't guess so."
"You don't guess so?"
"Well, Charles, I know you were in the war together and everything but this ain't exactly the war."
"What does that mean?"
"It means — "
"What does that have to do with our friendship?'
"Nothing, but — "
"Then why are we talking about this?"
"Charles. The army has been segregated since 1948, you said, but Listre still has the black laundromat and the white laundromat and nobody complaining — neither side. Johnny might get embarrassed downtown, that's all I'm worried about."
"You mean the army has been integrated since
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