Part 43 (1/2)

I write about what Aibileen told me, that Constantine had a daughter and had to give her up so she could work for our family--the Millers I call us, after Henry, my favorite banned author. I don't put in that Constantine's daughter was high yellow; I just want to show that Constantine's love for me began with missing her own child. Perhaps that's what made it so unique, so deep. It didn't matter that I was white. While she was wanting her own daughter back, I was longing for Mother not to be disappointed in me.

For two days, I write all the way through my childhood, my college years, where we sent letters to each other every week. But then I stop and listen to Mother coughing downstairs. I hear Daddy's footsteps, going to her. I light a cigarette and stub it out, thinking, Don't start up again. Don't start up again. The toilet water rushes through the house, filled with a little more of my mother's body. I light another cigarette and smoke it down to my fingers. I can't write about what's in Aibileen's letter. The toilet water rushes through the house, filled with a little more of my mother's body. I light another cigarette and smoke it down to my fingers. I can't write about what's in Aibileen's letter.

That afternoon, I call Aibileen at home. ”I can't put it in the book,” I tell her. ”About Mother and Constantine. I'll end it when I go to college. I just . . .”

”Miss Skeeter--”

”I know I should. I know I should be sacrificing as much as you and Minny and all of you. But I can't do that to my mother.”

”No one expects you to, Miss Skeeter. Truth is, I wouldn't think real high a you if you did.”

THE NEXT EVENING, I go to the kitchen for some tea.

”Eugenia? Are you downstairs?”

I tread back to Mother's room. Daddy's not in bed yet. I hear the television on out in the relaxing room. ”I'm here, Mama.”

She is in bed at six in the evening, the white bowl by her side. ”Have you been crying? You know how that ages your skin, dear.”

I sit in the straight cane chair beside her bed. I think about how I should begin. Part of me understands why Mother acted the way she did, because really, wouldn't anyone be angry about what Lulabelle did? But I need to hear my mother's side of the story. If there's anything redeeming about my mother that Aibileen left out of the letter, I want to know.

”I want to talk about Constantine,” I say.

”Oh Eugenia,” Mother chides and pats my hand. ”That was almost two years ago.”

”Mama,” I say and make myself look into her eyes. Even though she is terribly thin and her collarbone is long and narrow beneath her skin, her eyes are still as sharp as ever. ”What happened? What happened with her daughter?”

Mother's jaw tightens and I can tell she's surprised that I know about her. I wait for her to refuse to talk about it, as before. She takes a deep breath, moves the white bowl a little closer to her, says, ”Constantine sent her up to Chicago to live. She couldn't take care of her.”

I nod and wait.

”They're different that way, you know. Those people have children and don't think about the consequences until it's too late.”

They, those people. It reminds me of Hilly. Mother sees it on my face, too. It reminds me of Hilly. Mother sees it on my face, too.

”Now you look, I was good to Constantine. Oh, she talked back plenty of times and I put up with it. But Skeeter, she didn't give me a choice this time.”

”I know, Mother. I know what happened.”

”Who told you? Who else knows about this?” I see the paranoia rising in Mother's eyes. It is her greatest fear coming true, and I feel sorry for her.

”I will never tell you who told me. All I can say is, it was no one . . . important to you,” I say. ”I can't believe you would do that, Mother.”

”How dare you judge me, after what she did. Do you really know what happened? Were you there?” I see the old anger, an obstinate woman who's survived years of bleeding ulcers.

”That girl--” She shakes her k.n.o.bby finger at me. ”She showed up here. I had the entire DAR chapter at the house. You were up at school and the doorbell was ringing nonstop and Constantine was in the kitchen, making all that coffee over since the old percolator burned the first two pots right up.” Mother waves away the remembered reek of scorched coffee. ”They were all in the living room having cake, ninety-five people people in the house, and she's drinking coffee. She's talking to Sarah von Sistern and walking around the house like a guest and sticking cake in her mouth and then she's filling out the form to become a in the house, and she's drinking coffee. She's talking to Sarah von Sistern and walking around the house like a guest and sticking cake in her mouth and then she's filling out the form to become a member member.”

Again I nod. Maybe I didn't know those details, but they don't change what happened.

”She looked white as anybody, and she knew it too. She knew exactly what she was doing and so I say, How do you do? How do you do? and she laughs and says, and she laughs and says, Fine, Fine, so I say, so I say, And what is your name? And what is your name? and she says, and she says, You mean you don't know? I'm Lulabelle Bates. I'm grown now and I've moved back in with Mama. I got here yesterday morning. You mean you don't know? I'm Lulabelle Bates. I'm grown now and I've moved back in with Mama. I got here yesterday morning. And then she goes over to help herself to another piece of cake.” And then she goes over to help herself to another piece of cake.”

”Bates,” I say, because this is another detail I didn't know, albeit insignificant. ”She changed her last name back to Constantine's.”

”Thank G.o.d n.o.body heard her. But then she starts talking to Phoebe Miller, the president of the Southern States of the DAR, and I pulled her into the kitchen and I said, Lulabelle, you can't stay here. You need to go on, Lulabelle, you can't stay here. You need to go on, and oh she looked at me haughty. She said, and oh she looked at me haughty. She said, What, you don't allow colored Negroes in your living room if we're not cleaning up? What, you don't allow colored Negroes in your living room if we're not cleaning up? That's when Constantine walks in the kitchen and she looks as shocked as I am. I say, That's when Constantine walks in the kitchen and she looks as shocked as I am. I say, Lulabelle, you get out of this house before I call Mister Phelan, Lulabelle, you get out of this house before I call Mister Phelan, but she won't budge. Says, when I thought she was white, I treated her fine and dandy. Says up in Chicago, she's part of some black cat group so I tell Constantine, I say, but she won't budge. Says, when I thought she was white, I treated her fine and dandy. Says up in Chicago, she's part of some black cat group so I tell Constantine, I say, You get your daughter out of my house right now. You get your daughter out of my house right now.”

Mother's eyes seem more deep-set than ever. Her nostrils are flaring.

”So Constantine, she tells Lulabelle to go on back to their house, and Lulabelle says, Fine, I was leaving anyway Fine, I was leaving anyway, and heads for the dining room and of course I stop her. Oh no, Oh no, I say, I say, you go out the back door, not the front with the white guests. you go out the back door, not the front with the white guests. I was not about to have the DAR find out about this. And I told that bawdy girl, whose own mama we gave ten dollars extra to every Christmas, she was I was not about to have the DAR find out about this. And I told that bawdy girl, whose own mama we gave ten dollars extra to every Christmas, she was not not to step foot on this farm to step foot on this farm again. again. And do you know what she did?” And do you know what she did?”

Yes, I think, but I keep my face blank. I am still searching for the redemption. I think, but I keep my face blank. I am still searching for the redemption.

”Spit. In my face. A Negro in my home. Trying to act white.”

I shudder. Who would ever have the nerve to spit at my mother?

”I told Constantine that girl better not show her face here again. Not to Hotstack, not to the state of Mississippi. Nor would I tolerate her keeping terms with Lulabelle, not as long as your daddy was paying Constantine's rent on that house back there.”

”But it was Lulabelle acting that way. Not Constantine.”

”What if she stayed? I couldn't have that girl going around Jackson, acting white when she was colored, telling everybody she got into a DAR party at Longleaf. I just thank G.o.d n.o.body ever found out about it. She tried to embarra.s.s me in my own home, Eugenia. Five minutes before, she had Phoebe Miller filling out the form for her to join. join.”

”She hadn't seen her daughter in twenty years. You can't . . . tell a person they can't see their child.”

But Mother is caught up in her own story. ”And Constantine, she thought she could get me to change my mind. Miss Phelan, please, just let her stay at the house, she won't come on this side again, I hadn't seen her in so long. Miss Phelan, please, just let her stay at the house, she won't come on this side again, I hadn't seen her in so long.

”And that Lulabelle, with her hand up on her hip, saying, 'Yeah, my daddy died and my mama was too sick to take care of me when I was a baby. She had to give me away. You can't keep us apart.' ”

Mother lowers her voice. She seems matter-of-fact now. ”I looked at Constantine and I felt so much shame for her. To get pregnant in the first place and then to lie . . .”

I feel sick and hot. I'm ready for this to be over.

Mother narrows her eyes. ”It's time you learned, Eugenia, how things really are. You idolize Constantine too much. You always have.” She points her finger at me. ”They are not like regular people. people.”

I can't look at her. I close my eyes. ”And then what happened, Mother?”

”I asked Constantine, just as plain as day, 'Is that what you told her? Is that how you cover your mistakes?' ”

This is the part I was hoping wasn't true. This is what I'd hoped Aibileen had been wrong about.

”I told Lulabelle the truth. I told her, 'Your daddy didn't die. die. He left the day after you were born. And your mama hadn't been sick a day in her life. She gave you up because you were too high yellow. She didn't want you.'” He left the day after you were born. And your mama hadn't been sick a day in her life. She gave you up because you were too high yellow. She didn't want you.'”

”Why couldn't you let her believe what Constantine told her? Constantine was so scared she wouldn't like her, that's why she told her those things.”

”Because Lulabelle needed to know the truth. She needed to go back to Chicago where she belonged.”

I let my head sink into my hands. There is no redeeming piece of the story. I know why Aibileen hadn't wanted to tell me. A child should never know this about her own mother.

”I never thought Constantine would go to Illinois with her, Eugenia. Honestly, I was . . . sorry to see her go.”

”You weren't,” I say. I think about Constantine, after living fifty years in the country, sitting in a tiny apartment in Chicago. How lonely she must've felt. How bad her knees must've felt in that cold.