All-Bright Court by Connie Rose Porter Page A

her womb up, turned her womb into a barren field. That’s the way of the Lord.”
    Venita had never done anything that would cause God to curse her. But how could the women in All-Bright Court know that? All they could know was her emptiness. So she tried to hide from them in broad daylight, to make herself invisible while she was hanging clothes, shopping, sitting on the porch. She longed to know one of the women.
    Venita was not invisible. Mary Kate had seen her, so boldfaced, looking at her, at her children. Mary Kate knew she looked at the children because she was empty, but Mary Kate did not know Venita looked at her because she was lonely. Mary Kate had never taken out time to consider that possibility. In the nearly four years since Venita moved in, she had never said more than “hey” to Venita.
    Four years had filled up quickly. Four years of diapers and sheets and work clothes strung on lines. Up until ’65 she had a wringer washer. She had four years of sprinkling, starching, ironing. Four years of grits, redeye gravy, beaten biscuits, fried porgies, fried chicken, fried tomatoes, fried corn, fried pork chops, smothered pork chops, field peas, black-eyed peas, corn bread. Four years of scrubbing the floors, the children, the walls, the dishes, the toilet, the tub. Four years of making love, rocking babies, changing diapers. And not just these four years, but the six years of her married life had been spent taking care of everyone else, of everything else. She had never had the time to contemplate her own loneliness, or anyone else’s. And if you had asked her, she would have thought she had said more than “hey” to Venita. She would have thought she knew her. She had never taken out the time to notice that whenever she spoke to Venita, Venita looked shocked.
    It was Samuel who challenged what she knew. He challenged who she thought she was, and she took his challenge as a threat.
    It was another dismal Saturday in the dead of winter, and the weather had been so bad that Samuel had not seen the sun in more than a month. He and Mary Kate and the children were watching television, and he was already in a bad mood because Mary Kate wanted to see
Mission: Impossible
instead of
Get Smart. Mission: Impossible
had a black person in it. Samuel had told her, “I don’t want to see no Negro sweat for a hour. That’s all they let him do. He always be crawling under stuff, fixing it. He ain’t nothing but a handyman.” Mary Kate didn’t say anything. She was holding the baby Mary. But he put his foot down when she wanted to watch
The Hollywood Palace
because Sammy Davis Jr. was going to be on.
    â€œThat Tom!” he yelled.
    â€œHe not no Tom,” she said.
    â€œHe is. What he going be doing? Bowing and scraping and shining shoes. A big smile and tap dancing like a black monkey on a string. That’s what he going be doing.”
    â€œHe help Dr. King, you know that, working for our rights. You just jealous. He making big money.”
    â€œI’m not jealous. I think he putting on a act. He don’t care nothing ’bout Negroes, marrying that white woman. I see Negroes like him every day, breaking into a goddamn buck-and-wing every time a white man come by. I can’t stand to see a Negro act like that. You want to see our son grow up and be like that?”
    â€œMe?” Mikey asked.
    â€œYeah, you. What other son I got? Don’t you grow up and be no white man’s nigger, hear me?”
    â€œSamuel, stop talking like that.”
    â€œLike what? You need to get out in the world. All you do is set in the house and keep to yourself.”
    â€œYou think all I do is set here all day? Who you think look after your kids, clean the house, wash—”
    â€œThat ain’t what I’m saying. I know you do all that, but you don’t know nobody. You ain’t got one girlfriend. Tell me that you do,” Samuel said.
    â€œHow