Wash by Margaret Wrinkle Read Free Book Online Page B

remember it all. Seems strange for a grown man to keep so many bits and pieces from being small, but it’s a house I’m building for myself with a roof of remembering to put over my head. Something to lie under and hear the rain falling on at night. I take what I have and I make what I can with it. Some of it is edge and some is smooth, but I take it all and I use it to make me a place big enough to get inside.
    She’s who taught me that. But some days, she had to work to show me. Some days I wasn’t even looking, much less seeing. Especially after we got took off that island. Seemed like I could hear her better so long as we were out there on our own under old man Thompson. But once those two boys of his carried us over to his big place, there was no telling me nothing.
    I started slipping away from her. Going to see about those new folks. And I didn’t want her getting all fierce, hooking me to her and trying to tell me everything I’d already started to forget. Her wanting so hard scared me more than anything else but I understand it now and she knows I do.
    She was African and her staying African aggravated those new folks over at Thompson’s place. There was more countryborn than saltwater negroes, even back then, and most of those countryborn didn’t want none of that old hoodoo. Made em uneasy.
    But my mamma just stood there, wearing the distance she came across in her eyes and in her ways both. And she didn’t let it die down. Rubbed most everybody sideways. Like she was disrespecting em by hanging on to her African when this new place kept saying drop it and turn and walk away.
    And most of em had. Made sense in a way. Dragging your memories along with you can wear you out, like a mule dragging a heavy load over rough ground. But then here she comes, with her hands wrapped tight round all of it and not letting go. Keeping her knowing for herself.
    Made em mad enough, some would’ve tried to knock her loose from it if they hadn’t been scared of her. Her and Rufus both. But he held his African more hidden than she did, saying there’s no reason to tell everything you know.
    My mamma was stronger than most, that was part of it. But at the same time, somebody had showed her how. Back before she got snatched up, those old women had taught her what they knew. Pulled her off to the side. Said they saw she had more room inside than most folks. Born with one foot in the spirit world was what they called it.
    She told me she balked at first. Wanted to stay in that circle, playing with the rest of the girls. Be like everybody else. But she wasn’t and she knew it. So when her mamma nodded for her to go on and go, she did. She let those women teach her till she knew how to leave when she needed and how to come back both. And how to hold on to everything while she was gone. That’s how she made it over easier than most.
    I didn’t know much about any of this for myself back then. I just knew she was different. She was different and my being hers made me different too.
    What she showed me was, you had to intend. Keep your mind in mind. Guard it and watch it and get it what it needs. Can’t just go along like you sightseeing cause these sights round here will steal your mind right from you.
    Best be stitching yourself to something. Almost don’t matter what it is so long as it can keep you from getting swept away. Those that don’t find a foothold, I keep seeing em pass right on by me. Pouring straight over the edge.
    And it’s not just us that’s got to watch it. It’s everybody. Same current pulls on white folks too. Sometimes I think maybe it’s worse for them. So much more pulling on em and so much less to hold on to. What little they got must feel like reeds. After all this bending, those reeds must be getting old and tired and stripped looking, what with this storm blowing more days than not. And that edge getting closer and easier to wash over every minute no matter what you do.
    Lord knows what kind of