Folly (13 page)

Martha laughed warmly, quietly. Lenore wanted to ask her how she had known, but she worried she'd be asking too much. Martha was so much older than her. That was another line to cross. But Martha volunteered, “My best friend in school took me to this bar. Men and women but not together, if you know what I mean. Anyway, here I was, I knew that I was attracted to some women, but all I did in that bar was try to figure out which ones were men and which ones were women. Seemed like everybody was putting on an act. I just wanted to be plain old me. I didn't like the place, but I kept on going back, trying to fit myself in.”

She told Lenore about meeting up with Lucinda there, and a couple of years later, Cookie, who was up visiting from Florida at the time. She'd moved down there with Cookie and they'd tried to live like ordinary people, no special roles. “I don't know,” she added. “I guess when you think about it, that ain't right. Most ordinary people, married people, do live in roles. It's just when we do it, they think it's weird.”

Lenore wanted to ask Martha if she had a girlfriend now in Victory but couldn't think of a way to phrase the question. She wanted to ask so much. Where was the bar and was it still going? Were there other women like them that Martha knew in Victory? She stared at the book cover and tried to keep her voice steady. “How was it for you . . . coming back to Victory?”

“Okay,” Martha said cautiously. “I have Folly next door and I couldn't have anyone better. I don't let
that,
what we're talking about, interfere with her. And up until this last stroke, I've always had my ma at home to look after.” Martha smoked a cigarette and stayed in her own thoughts. It wasn't true
that
didn't interfere anymore. It had been true for years, but now it was as if a leak had gotten started and each day more and more of her poured into those feelings. Something had come alive that she had held in dormancy after she had come home. She felt touchy, more aware of her senses. She got up and took her cup over to the sink. She noticed how neat Lenore's kitchenette was, how it smelled of cleaning smells—Ajax, a new sponge—instead of cooking odors. She wanted to tell her something that would be useful. She felt she should give something more in exchange for Lenore's courage in giving her the book, but she could neither talk about Folly nor move her
mind past her. She put her cigarettes in her breast pocket, preparing to leave. “I never have regretted being the way I am,” she said, “even though it's hard sometimes. You understand what I mean?”

Lenore stood up. “I reckon I do.”

“We'll talk again,” Martha said. “We never really talked about the book.”

“I sure would like to.”

Martha cupped her hands on both Lenore's shoulders and faced her squarely for a second at the door. Lenore wanted to reach back but stood with her arms inert, passively dangling at her sides. Then Martha turned and was gone. Lenore followed her in her mind's eye as she drove to the hospital to visit Daisy, as she had said she was going to do. Lenore felt the strength, the solidity of the hands that had pressed her shoulders, almost as if they were still there.

15.

Folly spoke brusquely as she told the boys to mind Mary Lou. “It'll be after supper before I get home, and I don't want to find this place in no mess,” she said. She felt bad about leaving them behind and regretted they'd let Jesse talk them into not bringing families to the picnic. It would defeat their purpose, he had told them. They were having the picnic to try to talk more to women who had voted against the union. If they all brought their children, Jesse reasoned, they would be too busy with them to talk—just as at the factory, they were always too busy with the work that was looking them in the face. They had decided to have the picnic in the State Park up in the mountains and, no surprise, it had turned out to be a hot, muggy day—one on which it seemed plain unfair to leave the children behind. Tiny's pout indicated his agreement. Nevertheless, Folly packed up her cooler without giving him another glance and walked off and left them. Martha was already waiting in the car. They tooted for Effie and then went around and picked up Suellen who lived on the inside loop of the trailer park.

They made the long, slow climb up the mountain with all the windows down, feeling how the air was cooling off with the increased altitude. Effie flapped her arms like wings and her laughter rippled in the back seat. Martha noticed how the temperature gauge was rising toward HOT, the red zone, and mentioned it. “Poor old car's workin' hard,” Folly said, “carrying all this weight up hill.”

“Good thing I'm not in the back seat, we'd be boiling,” Martha said. Folly turned around and laughed with Suellen, who was nothing but bones, and Effie, who was small but plump. The road dipped down and since the temperature gauge followed it, Martha stopped worrying.

“I felt bad leaving the kids home,” Folly said.

“Me too,” Suellen said, “for about five minutes.” They laughed. “Think of what a good time we're gonna have without them. How many Sundays have we ever gotten off both from work and from mothering—cleaning, shopping, what have you.” She leaned her head back against the seat and let the wind blow part of her hair across her face. This wasn't like the quiet, reserved Suellen that Folly thought she knew.

“Whoopee,” Effie hooted. “You said it, Suellen.”

They all laughed more and Folly settled further into dropping her cares and joining the mood. She had resisted the idea of this picnic even though she'd been involved in the planning of it. They still didn't have a contract and as one of the union reps, she knew that was not from lack of trying on their part. It was because of the unyielding stubbornness of the management, because of the way they wanted to refuse to believe they
had
to negotiate. Jesse had confidence that they were progressing toward an agreement, if slowly, but Folly sometimes had the feeling they had no more strength than before. If this was the case, she didn't want to be wasting her time and energy trying to convince the other women they should be joining. She had argued this with Jesse. “But regardless of what has happened so far, surely you have a commitment to the ideology,” he'd said, pressing the words upon her with an attitude of positive declaration of the type she sometimes used on her children. She had looked straight at him but felt as if he were somewhere distant. “If this union works, I'm for it, but if it can't work here, then I'd better be looking after my own tail,” she'd said.

“We
will
get a contract,” Jesse had responded, a deep, timeless patience in his voice.

She'd favored saving the picnic for after the contract, but she'd been out voted by those who had wanted it now. And as she relaxed, she began to believe they'd been right. She needed the change of scenery as much as anyone. She realized she hadn't driven up this mountain in a couple of years or more. Her ears clicked. She felt light and wondered if she felt that way because of the altitude.

Just after they entered the park, they came upon the first union sign taped to a tree trunk with a broad red arrow pointing them right at the fork. Jesse had come early to find a good spot and put up the signs. They gave a cheer. Folly felt elated about coming upon these signs, knowing they meant there was a place saved for them. They drove back through the picnic grounds on a dirt road well shaded by tall trees, following the arrows. The last sign was a placard nailed to a stake, one which Folly had carried as she walked the picket line. WOMEN OF VICTORY MILLS UNITE.

Mabel and Jesse sat side by side on top of a picnic table. The women in Martha's car unloaded and carried their gear over to put down near them. “Y'all late,” Mabel announced. “I done been swimming already.”

“No kidding,” Martha said, not sure whether Mabel was serious. She looked hard at her magenta bathing suit to determine if it was, in fact, wet, but couldn't tell. “I better drink some of that stuff that makes you float before I go in.”

“Now don't you go telling me you can't swim.” Mabel shook her finger at Martha and inclined herself toward Jesse. “She already tried to tell me one other time she couldn't dance.” To Folly she said, “You be my witness.”

“I saw her dance,” Folly said.

“You ever been baptized?” Mabel asked Martha.

“I reckon I was, but I don't remember it.”

“That's right. You white folks gets dunked when y'all little bitty babies.”

“Beer's there,” Jesse interjected, pointing to a bench with a keg perched on it. Jesse struck Folly as more nervous than she had ever seen him, as if he thought the only thing they could talk about safely across their color lines was the union. But Mabel went on in spite of him, promising Martha she'd be ready to hit the water with her, soon as she was ready to float.

They greeted the other women already there, then more who were arriving. Soon it felt as if the area had always been theirs, the whole cluster of picnic tables scattered with the belongings of the mill women, who wandered about, talking and joking easily. Folly realized how different they all looked when you got them out of the mill. She had noticed this before, when they were out striking. Inside, each woman had a fairly set expression to her face which she held from when she arrived until she left. She geared herself to maintain a level of tension that would push against time—too little of it to get the job done, too much of it always still between the moment she had reached and the wait for the end of the shift.

Folly sat with her back pressed into the trunk of a tree and closed her eyes. She wondered if it would be possible for a mill to operate without the workers always having to be pushed the way they were. How many zippers would she sew if she were allowed to choose her own pace? She would want to keep busy, she was sure of that. She would not want to sit and dawdle with empty time. For one minute she pictured these women who moved around the picnic tables working in a factory without a boss. She could actually see them sitting at
their machines, focused on their work but not tensed with concern against the clock or the man who watched them. She felt frustrated by the questions that came with the vision. What would they do with the product? Who would run things? Where would they get the machines?

Martha came with a beer for her and touching the cold cup to her leg, bounced her back to the party. They swam, Mabel seeing to Martha's promised baptism. They ate until they were stuffed. They talked union some of the time, but the fact they were all there, having a good afternoon, and that the union had put this picnic together seemed enough reason for its existence without the usual talk: power, bosses, workers, the right to have some control over their working conditions. Jesse wanted them to talk more and kept reminding them, but Martha finally told him, “C'mon, relax. We're having a good time. You're allowed to have one, too.”

Late afternoon Shirley started organizing a softball game. “Who wants to be a captain?” she went around asking. She came up with Arlaine, a Black woman who was pro-union, and Nina, a white woman who was anti. Jesse muttered to Folly that he didn't want to see this union contest take place on the softball field. Folly shrugged and moved closer to the cluster of those who wanted to play. The captains chose: Arlaine chose the Black women and Nina chose the white. “No sense worrying,” Folly said to Jesse as she went off to cover third base when Nina lost the toss.

Mabel had stout arms and a stance that was more remarkable for staying still than for moving, and didn't look at all like an athlete until she took up the bat, and with two women on, smacked the first home run into the picnic area beyond left field. Her teammates hooted her around the bases. This was the beginning of a trend. Two outs and the Black women hit one good grounder after another, stacking up the runs. Ten to nothing and the other side hadn't even been up yet. “This is it,” Nina kept saying. “We're gonna get the next one at first.”

“What you say?” Arlaine called. “We can't hear you. Ain't that right,” she said to her team. “We gonna stay here, batter up, all day.” Emily socked the ball straight past Gilda, the shortstop.

“Hey, come on, y'all gotta goof up sometime,” Gilda hollered with frustration. “Give us a break. Where'd y'all learn to hit so good?”

Arlaine put her hands on her hips. “Right back down there at the colored school with your cracked bats, hand-me-downs from the white school. Now you see why they never let us play against y'all? They
figured, turn us loose with equal stuff, no telling when we'd ever let up on you.” Others on the Black team joined Arlaine in the heckling, including Freena.

Beth countered from the pitcher's mound. “Hey, just a minute, Freena. Remember me? We went to the same school together.” Beth was hot and tired of pitching and sorry they didn't have an umpire to call strikes. They had asked Jesse to be one, but he had refused and now sat under a shade tree within hearing distance. She was also disappointed and embarrassed at the ineptitude of some of her teammates, the way they laughed as the ball scooted right by them.

“Wait a minute,” Mabel said. “Just 'cause you used the same bats don't always put you in the same ballpark.” “Yeah, okay,” Beth said, feeling her face flush red and hot. “Let's play ball.” She gave Freena a fast pitch and Freena hit a long drive over the heads of the fielders. Freena loped around the bases, free and proud, and lifted by the cheers of her team. Finally, the next woman hit a foul pop-up and Nina got under it. The whites were up for five minutes, then back on the field. About the fourth inning, the tension broke. The white side stopped keeping score. Mabel charged into Folly on third and they both fell down in the grass. Arlaine declared the score at the beginning of each inning, and there was no question of who was winning. Beth even started to enjoy herself though she wished she was on the other team. Folly couldn't remember a single other day in her adulthood when she'd felt so free of routine and responsibility. She got her home run in just before they quit and headed off for another swim before packing up to go home. Her eye caught Jesse giving her the victory sign as she rounded third base, and she raised her arms in return.

Folly and Martha sat in lawn chairs on the patio surrounding the kidney shaped pool of the motel. Though it was dark out, the water sparkled ocean blue because of the underground light. Folly leaned forward and hugged her own arms. “Sure is amazing how cool it gets up here at night.”

“Sure is,” Martha said, quietly. “I'll bring you your jacket. I was going to get mine anyway.”

Folly could hear Martha whistle her way across the driveway. She leaned her head back and let out a long sigh. So this was the way people who took vacations lived. But they weren't on vacation, they were stuck. Their water pump had gone just after they'd left the park. They never would have chosen a motel with a swimming pool, but this was it,
the only one near the garage where the mechanic had promised to fix their car early in the morning. Effie and Suellen had gone on with someone who'd left the picnic before them.

Folly was mesmerized by the small ripples of the blue water in the pool. Martha came behind her and slipped the jacket over her shoulders. “What a night,” she said, allowing her hands to linger on Folly's shoulders. She felt the current of desire as she had so often in the recent months. Folly didn't move but tipped her head further back.

“You star gazing?” Martha said.

“Too much light in the pool,” Folly said, putting both of her hands on top of Martha's and keeping them on her shoulders for a few seconds. Martha couldn't speak, she was holding her breath and feeling so full. All she could think of to say was, “I love you,” and she couldn't say that outright to Folly. Her hands felt as if they had found perfect landing places and stayed in a holding pattern. How long could this go on? Would Folly be capable of breaking it?

She did. She suggested they go for a walk down the side road that started beside the motel. She let go of Martha's hands, leaving the backs of them feeling exposed to Martha, as if newly born. Folly, rising, grunted, “If I can get up. I think I ran them bases once too often.”

“I hope the kids are doing okay,” she said as they walked.

“I reckon Mary Lou's got the boys all settled down.”

“I hope. They'll probably have themselves a wild time.”

“Probably harder on you not to have them around than the other way,” Martha said.

“No. I'm having a good time. I'm not even sorry we got stuck. I mean we couldn't have made it up if we'd tried, could we?”

“No,” Martha said. They bumped arms with a stride and ended up with their hands clasped together. It seemed as if neither of them had initiated the move, or else they had both done so at once. They walked quietly, sneakers on blacktop, and no cars in sight.

“There's your stars,” Martha said. They stopped to get their bearings in the sky, still holding hands.
I love you,
Martha silently repeated, looking at the stars, her tongue pressed firmly against the roof of her mouth. I love you, I love you, pulsed a rhythm in her body.