Every day, Miss Celia looks like she just cant believe Ive come back to work. Im the only thing that interrupts all that quiet around her. My house is always full of five kids and neighbors and a husband. Most days when I come in to Miss Celias, I am grateful for the peace.
My housekeeping tasks fall on the same day for every job I take: on Monday, I oil up the furniture. Tuesday, I wash and iron the damn sheets, the day I hate. Wednesday is for scrubbing the bathtub real good even though I wipe it down every morning. Thursday is for polishing floors and sucking rugs, minding the antique ones with a hand broom so they dont thread. Friday is heavy cooking for the weekend and what-have-you. And every day is mopping, washing clothes and ironing shirts so they dont go getting out of hand, and generally keeping things clean. Silver and windows, theyre as needed. Since there arent any kids to look after, theres ample time left for Miss Celias so-called cooking lesson.
Miss Celia never does any entertaining, so we just fix whatever she and Mister Johnny are having for supper: pork chops, fried chicken, roast beef, chicken pie, lamb rack, baked ham, fried tomatoes, mashed potatoes, plus the vegetables. Or at least I cook and Miss Celia fidgets, looking more like a five-year-old than the rich lady paying my rent. When the lessons over, she rushes back to laying down. In fact, the only time Miss Celia walks ten feet is to come in the kitchen for her lesson or to sneak upstairs every two or three days, up in the creepy rooms.
I dont know what she does for five minutes on the second floor. I dont like it up there though. Those bedrooms should be stacked full of kids laughing and hollering and pooping up the place. But its none of my business what Miss Celia does with her day, and ask me, Im glad shes staying out of my way. Ive followed ladies around with a broom in one hand and a trash can in the other trying to keep up with their mess. As long as she stays in that bed, then Ive got a job. Even though she has zero kids and nothing to do all day, she is the laziest woman Ive ever seen. Including my sister Doreena who never lifted a royal finger growing up because she had the heart defect that we later found out was a fly on the X-ray machine.
And its not just the bed. Miss Celia wont leave the house except to get her hair frosted and her ends trimmed. So far, thats only happened once in the three weeks Ive been working. Thirty-six years old and I can still hear my mama telling me, It aint nobodys business. But I want to know what that ladys so scared of outside this place.
Every payday, I give Miss Celia the count. Ninety-nine more days till you tell Mister Johnny bout me.
Golly, the times going by quick, shell say with kind of a sick look.
Cat got on the porch this morning, bout give me a cadillac arrest[35] thinking it was Mister Johnny.
Like me, Miss Celia gets a little more nervous the closer we get to the deadline. I dont know what that man will do when she tells him. Maybe hell tell her to fire me.
I hope thats enough time, Minny. Do you think Im getting any better at cooking? she says, and I look at her. Shes got a pretty smile, white straight teeth, but she is the worst cook I have ever seen.
So I back up and teach her the simplest things because I want her to learn and learn it fast. See, I need her to explain to her husband why a hundred-and-sixty-five-pound Negro woman has keys to his house. I need him to know why I have his sterling silver and Miss Celias zillion-karat ruby earrings in my hand every day. I need him to know this before he walks in one fine day and calls the police. Or saves a dime and takes care of business himself.
Get the ham hock out, make sure you got enough water in there, thats right. Now turn up the flame. See that little bubble there, that means the waters happy.
Miss Celia stares down into the pot like shes looking for her future. Are you happy, Minny?
Why you ask me funny questions like that?
But are you?
Course Is happy. You happy too. Big house, big yard, husband looking after you. I frown at Miss Celia and I make sure she can see it. Because aint that white people for you, wondering if they are happy enough.
And when Miss Celia burns the beans, I try and use some of that self-control my mama swore I was born without. Alright, I say through my teeth, well do another batch fore Mister Johnny get home.
Any other woman Ive worked for, I wouldve loved to have had just one hour of bossing them around, see how they like it. But Miss Celia, the way she stares at me with those big eyes like Im the best thing since hairspray in the can, I almost rather shed order me around like shes supposed to. I start to wonder if her laying down all the time has anything to do with her not telling Mister Johnny about me. I guess she can see the suspicious in my eye too, because one day, out of the blue[36] she says:
I get these nightmares a lot, that I have to go back to Sugar Ditch and live! Thats why I lay down so much. Then she nods real fast, like shes been rehearsing this. Cause I dont sleep real well at night.