We were on his street now.
“See this house?” He turned me to a tall house, much like his parents’. He pointed to boarded windows on the second and third floors.
“We’re the richest family in the poorest neighbourhood. Striver’s Row is crumbling. Hardly any of us left with money. The Crash hit Harlem hard.”
I wanted to ask what the Crash was.
“Look at the garbage piled up there. And over there.”
I’d never seen streets that didn’t have garbage in them.
“It’s as poor here as your Surry Hills.”
“It never.”
“It isn’t,” Joshua corrected. “It is.”
“But the clothes! No one dresses like that back home.”
“People here care more about appearances, but the poverty goes down as deep. Harlem is suffocating on poverty and race prejudice.”
Race prejudice. I would look it up in his dictionary.
“But you’re not. Your family isn’t.”
“Not so far.”
* * *
I saw it after that. The toe-raggers on the street begging, folks with raggedy clothes sleeping in the park, rats almost as big as in the Hills. Not as many though, and none at the Irvings’. Mrs Irving wouldn’t allow it.
I snooped.
Stood in the corridor, my ear pressed to the door, while his daddy sat quietly working, ignoring them, and Joshua and his mama went mean at each other.
“Are you saying she ain’t light enough for you?” Joshua asked. The ain’t was to poke her.
“Joshua Percival Desmond Irving, that is not the point, and you know it. She’s country.”
“She’s from the biggest city in Australia. She’s never seen a cow.”
“You know what I mean. How could you have married someone who hasn’t heard of Shakespeare, of Toussaint L’Ouverture, of Frederick Douglass?”
“She’s Australian. No Australian has heard of L’Ouverture or Douglass.”
“That’s as may be, Joshua. How could you marry such a wretch? She’s not even pretty.”
He hadn’t. We weren’t married. We were just wearing rings.
Though I thought the baby in my belly counted for something.
“To break your heart, Mama. I went out and found the ugliest, trashiest gal I could and married her. Is it working? Is your heart broken yet?”
That’s why Joshua brought me here?
To hurt his mama?
I sank to the floor as if all the blood and air had left my body.
I was nothing to him.
He was going to throw me over. I couldn’t go back to the Hills.
“Jesse’s country,” Joshua said. “I’ve never seen Otis so happy.”
“Don’t talk about that woman. Not in my house.”
“Cheer up, Mama. Think how light our children will be.”
I heard a sound almost as loud as a gun going off. I jumped up quicksmart, acting like I was on my way from the kitchen, but I was pointed the wrong way.
When Joshua slammed out, his mother’s handprint was red on his cheek.
He grabbed my arm, led me to his bedroom.
“Was that true?” I asked, though I’d sworn I wouldn’t. “You brought me here to hurt your mum?”
“You heard that?”
I nodded. He wasn’t denying it.
“Do you even like me?”
“Course I like you, Dulcie. You’re my girl.”
He kissed me, soft and warm, his hands sliding around my waist. “You’re my girl, Dulcie. For always.”
“Your ugly, trashy girl.”
“No, sugar, you’re beautiful. I was messing with my mama.”
“Tell me about Otis,” I said to stop myself crying.
“I told you, my favourite brother. Best person in this world.”
Joshua was my best person. Where was I on his list? Was I even above his mama?
I pushed him away, touched my stomach. “There’s a new best person on the way. Our light-skin bub.”
Joshua kissed me harder and whispered the sweetest things.
He was everything to me; but to him I was a stick to prod his mama. I wouldn’t cry. I would figure out how to stay.
He nicked off a few days later.
* * *
Joshua didn’t say goodbye. He left a note, on top of a pile of books he expected me to have read by the time he returned, told me to stay out of his mama’s way, what to call the baby if he weren’t back as soon as he’d like, and signed off with love.
He wouldn’t be here for the baby?
He wouldn’t be here for me?
What did he think was gunna happen? His mama wanted to cut me.
I swore I wouldn’t cry.
I did.
* * *
Once my tears were dry, I went down to the kitchen to talk to Eula. It was where I spent my time when Joshua was writing, helping Eula, staying out of Mrs Irving’s way.
I’d helped Aunt May clean and cook for her boss. I knew kitchens.
Eula was a good ’un. She said I might as well be useful.
Eula was who I’d asked what saditty meant.
“That’s someone who thinks they’re better than everyone else.”
I’d smiled. Mrs Irving surely did.
Eula told me about the family.
Joshua was the baby. He did whatever he wanted. He was the missus’ favourite.
“Even now?”
Eula nodded.
Allen worked too hard doctoring.
“Missus thinks his wife acts like she’s Queen of Harlem, dragging him out at all hours when he should be sleeping. No babies yet. Missus says that’s as well because she wouldn’t mother any better than a cat.”
“What do you think?” I asked.
Eula laughed. “Missus and Augusta got more in common than not, is what I think.”
Eula gave me the look that meant, You didn’t hear me say that.
Marguerite wasn’t married yet, though it wasn’t for lack of offers. Prettier than any of the nightingales at the Cotton Club. Kind too. But Eula wished she’d stop doing that dangerous lawyer work down South.