Bastard Out of Carolina - Dorothy Allison [105]
“It’s not you.” She opened her bag, took out her Pall Malls, lit one, and began to rake her hair out with her other hand. I got her an ashtray.
“You want me to make coffee?”
“No, baby.”
I sat down at the table.
“Is Alma still at Ruth’s?”
She nodded, paused, and looked at me directly. “Bone, your aunt Ruth died early this morning.” Her eyes glistened. I waited for her to start crying, but she didn’t. She just sat there smoking. I looked at my hands. I couldn’t believe what she had said. Aunt Ruth was dead? No. Mama cleared her throat.
“Alma is still with Travis and Raylene. I just came to get you and Reese. There’s a lot to do. So much I can’t even think yet. ”
“I’m sorry, Mama.” My voice cracked. I swallowed hard, wanting to cry but feeling no tears come. Even after all this time, I had not really expected Aunt Ruth to die. Everybody kept saying she would beat this, the way she had before. Mama had talked as if this illness were just something that had to be gotten past, as if Ruth just needed time and quiet to get better. Everyone did. Then I remembered how thin she was when I stayed with her, how frail and weak, her whole body shaking when she laughed, the way she looked at me when she asked me if she was dying. I had known, of course I had known. It was death Aunt Ruth was thinking about all the time. Death was the reason she had talked so much, so intently, death was the fire burning her up. With every breath and laugh and wiped-away tear, she had been dying. I had known that, but I had still imagined Aunt Ruth would go on, her dying something always still to come. The fantasy had been helped along by not seeing her every day as I had all summer. All these months, I had known what was happening over at that house, known and denied it, because I could do nothing else.
“Ruth was never pretty, you know.” Mama’s voice surprised me. I looked up at the clock, but the light over the stove was off. There were half a dozen butts in the ashtray, and Mama’s mascara had run even more. I licked my lips.
“Aunt Alma said she was striking.”
“Oh.” Mama shrugged. Her fingers wiped her cheek, smeared the mascara back toward her temple. “That’s what they say when a girl’s got a strong face and an’t ugly, but an’t pretty neither. When we were little I think Ruth would have given just about anything to be pretty. She used to stand in front of Granny’s wardrobe mirror and stare at herself when she thought no one was looking, but I never teased her about it. She got enough teasing from the boys.” Mama ground her cigarette out.
“Truth is, she just about raised me. Daddy was gone by then, and Granny was always running after the boys or your aunt Alma, who was always getting herself in some trouble or the other. Ruth was the one that was there for me, that I could talk to. Once she told me that she liked to pretend I was hers. I was the baby, had just started school when she married Travis and moved down the road from us. She was over at our place almost as much as hers, cooking for Granny and picking up after us. Travis used to get mad and come beating on the door yelling for her to get her ass home to him.”
Mama pulled her lips in and bit the lower lip lightly. It was something I had seen Aunt Ruth do often, something I did myself when I was nervous. Now it almost made me cry. I wiped at my own eyes, watching Mama use the back of her hand to wipe her eyes again.
“For some reason, Ruth didn’t think she could have babies. When she got pregnant, she was so happy. It was a mystery to me why she liked having children so much. Seemed like everybody else whined and complained about it, but Ruth just took on so, laughed and sang and made her own baby clothes. Then, one time, I asked her why she acted so happy, and she stared at me like I was just plain crazy. Told me it was proof. Being pregnant was proof that some man thought you were pretty sometime, and the more babies she got, the more she knew she was worth something. I just about cried, and at the same time I wanted to hit her for talking like that, talking