Aibileen smiles, nods. Bertrina waddles off to her pew.

“Maybe you ought a be a little pickier who you pray for,” I say.

“Aw, I ain’t mad at her no more,” says Aibileen. “And look a there, she done lost some weight.”

“She telling everybody she lost forty pounds,” I say.

“Lord a mercy.”

“Only got two hundred more to go.”

Aibileen tries not to smile, acts like she’s waving away the lemon smell.

“So what you want me to come early for?” I ask. “You miss me or something?”

“Naw, it’s no big deal. Just something somebody said.”

“What?”

Aibileen takes a breath, looks around for anybody listening. We’re like royalty here. Folks are always hemming in on us.

“You know that Miss Skeeter?” she asks.

“I told you I did the other day.”

She quiets her voice, says,“Well, remember how I slipped up and told her about Treelore writing colored things down?”

“I remember. She want a sue you for that?”

“No, no. She nice. But she had the gall to ask if me and some a my maid friends might want a put down on paper what it’s like to tend for white people. Say she writing a book.”

“Say what?”

Aibileen nods, raises her eyebrows.“Mm-hmm.”

“Phhh. Well, you tell her it’s a real Fourth of July picnic. It’s what we dream a doing all weekend, get back in they houses to polish they silver,” I say.

“I told her, let the regular old history books tell it. White people been representing colored opinions since the beginning a time.”

“That’s right. You tell her.”

“I did. I tell her she crazy,” Aibileen says. “I ask her, what if we told the truth? How we too scared to ask for minimum wage. How nobody gets paid they Social Security. How it feel when your own boss be calling you...” Aibileen shakes her head. I’m glad she doesn’t say it.

“How we love they kids when they little...” she says and I see Aibileen’s lip tremble a little. “And then they turn out just like they mamas.”

I look down and see Aibileen’s gripping her black pocketbook like it’s the only thing she has left in this world. Aibileen, she moves on to another job when the babies get too old and stop being color-blind. We don’t talk about it.

“Even if she is changing all the names a the help and the white ladies,” she sniff.

“She crazy if she think we do something dangerous as that. Forher.”

“We don’t want a bring all that mess up.” Aibileen wipes her nose with a hankie. “Tell people the truth.”

“No, we don’t,” I say, but I stop. It’s something about that wordtruth. I’ve been trying to tell white women the truth about working for them since I was fourteen years old.

“We don’t want a change nothing around here,” Aibileen says and we’re both quiet, thinking about all the things we don’t want to change. But then Aibileen narrows her eyes at me, asks, “What. You don’t think it’s a crazy idea?”

“I do, I just...” And that’s when I see it. We’ve been friends for sixteen years, since the day I moved from Greenwood to Jackson and we met at the bus stop. I can read Aibileen like the Sunday paper. “You thinking about it, ain’t you,” I say. “You want a talk to Miss Skeeter.”

She shrugs and I know I’m right. But before Aibileen can confess, Reverend Johnson comes and sits down in the pew behind us, leans between our shoulders. “Minny, I’m sorry I haven’t had the chance to tell you congratulations on your new job.”

I smooth my dress down.“Why, thank you, Reverend Minister.”

“You must of been on Aibileen’s prayer list,” he says, patting Aibileen on the shoulder.

“Sure was. I told Aibileen, at this rate, she needs to start charging.”

The Reverend laughs. He gets up and treads slowly to the pulpit. Everything goes still. I can’t believe Aibileen wants to tell Miss Skeeter the truth.

Truth.

It feels cool, like water washing over my sticky-hot body. Cooling a heat that’s been burning me up all my life.

Дата добавления: 2015-10-31