I aint working in no kitchen with no ceiling fan, Mister Carlton.
Sure you will. Im just hooking up the current to it now.
Daddy climbed down the ladder. Constantine filled a pot with water. Go head, she sighed. Turn it on then.
Daddy flipped the switch. In the seconds it took to really get going, cake flour blew up from the mixing bowl and swirled around the room, recipes flapped off the counter and caught fire on the stovetop. Constantine snatched the burning roll of parchment paper, quickly dipped it in the bucket of water. Theres still a hole where the ceiling fan hung for ten minutes.
In the newspaper, I see State Senator Whitworth pointing to an empty lot of land where they plan to build a new city coliseum. I turn the page. I hate being reminded of my date with Stuart Whitworth.
Pascagoula pads into the kitchen. I watch as she cuts out biscuits with a shot glass thats never shot a thing but short dough. Behind me, the kitchen windows are propped open with Sears, Roebuck & Co. catalogues. Pictures of two-dollar hand mixers and mail-order toys flutter in a breeze, swollen and puckered from a decade of rain.
Maybe I should just ask Pascagoula. Maybe Mother wont find out. But who am I kidding? Mother watches her every move and Pascagoula seems afraid of me anyway, like I might tell on her if she does something wrong. It could take years to break through that fear. My best sense tells me, leave Pascagoula out of this.
The phone rings like a fire alarm. Pascagoula clangs her spoon on the bowl and I grab the receiver before she can.
Minny gone help us, Aibileen whispers.
I slip into the pantry and sit on my flour can. I cant speak for about five seconds. When? When can she start?
Next Thursday. But she got some requirements.
What are they?
Aibileen pauses a moment. She say she dont want your Cadillac anywhere this side a the Woodrow Wilson bridge.
Alright, I say. I guess I could drive the truck in.
And she say she say you cant set on the same side a the room as her. She want a be able to see you square on at all times.
Ill sit wherever she wants me to.
Aibileens voice softens. She just dont know you, is all. Plus she aint got a real good history with white ladies.
Whatever I have to do, Ill do it.
I walk out of the pantry beaming, hang the phone up on the wall. Pascagoula is watching me, the shot glass in one hand, a raw biscuit in the other. She looks down quickly and goes back to her work.
Two days later, I tell Mother Im going to pick up a new copy of the King James Bible since Ive worn mine so thin and all. I also tell her I feel guilty driving the Cadillac what with all those poor starving babies in Africa and Ive decided to take the old truck today. She narrows her eyes at me from her porch rocker. Where exactly do you plan on buying this new Bible?
I blink. The they ordered it for me. At the Canton church.
She nods, watches me the entire time it takes to start the old truck.
I drive to Farish Street with a lawn mower in the back and a rusted-out floorboard. Under my feet, I can see flashes of pavement whiz by. But at least Im not pulling a tractor.
Aibileen opens the door and I come in. In the back corner of the living room, Minny stands with her arms crossed over her huge bosom. Ive met her the few times Hilly allowed Missus Walters to host bridge club. Minny and Aibileen are both still in their white uniforms.
Hello, I say from my side of the room. Good to see you again.
Miss Skeeter. Minny nods. She settles in a wooden chair Aibileen has brought out from the kitchen, and the frame creaks. I sit on the far end of the sofa. Aibileen sits on the other end of the sofa, between us.
I clear my throat, produce a nervous smile. Minny doesnt smile back. She is fat and short and strong. Her skin is blacker than Aibileens by ten shades, and shiny and taut, like a pair of new patent shoes[121].
I already told Minny how we doing the stories, Aibileen says to me. You helping me write mine. And hers she gone tell you, while you write it down.
And Minny, everything you say here is in confidence, I say. Youll get to read everything we
What makes you think colored people need your help? Minny stands up, chair scraping. Why you even care about this? You white.
I look at Aibileen. Ive never had a colored person speak to me this way.
We all working for the same thing here, Minny, Aibileen says. We just talking.
And what thing is that? Minny says to me. Maybe you just want me to tell you all this stuff so I get in trouble. Minny points to the window. Medgar Evers, the NAACP officer who live five minutes away, they blew up his carport last night. For talking.
My face is burning red. I speak slowly. We want to show your perspective so people might understand what its like from your side[122]. We we hope it might change some things around here.
What you think you gone change with this? What law you want to reform so it say you got to be nice to your maid?
Now hold on, I say, Im not trying to change any laws here. Im just talking about attitudes and