"I am sorry to leave you, too, granny," I answered with a lump in my throat. "But I will come back soon, I hope. I love you so much, grandma. You have been so kind and so nice to me, taught me everything I know: how to take care of myself, how to wash myself and brush my teeth, put my clothes away, mind the older folks."
She patted me on the back, wiped her eyes and then wiped mine. Then she kind of nudged me very gently toward the door to say good-bye. She did not know when I would be back. I didn't either. But my mother was sick, and she felt I should go to her side.
The woman took me by the hand and slowly led me away. When we were in the street I suddenly broke into tears. As long as we were in James Alley I could see Grandma Josephine waving good-bye to me. We turned the corner to catch the Tulane Avenue trolley, just in front of the House of Detention. I stood there sniffling, when all of a sudden the woman turned me round to see the huge building.
"Listen here, Louis," she said. "If you don't stop crying at once I will put you in that prison. That's where they keep bad men and women. You don't want to go there, do you?"
"Oh, no, lady."
Seeing how big this place was I said to myself: "Maybe I had better stop crying. After all I don't know this woman and she is liable to do what she said. You never know."
I stopped crying at once. The trolley came and we got on.
It was my first experience with Jim Crow. I was just five, and I had never ridden on a street car before. Since I was the first to get on, I walked right up to the front of the car without noticing the signs on the backs of the seats on both sides, which read: FOR COLORED PASSENGERS ONLY. Thinking the woman was following me, I sat down in one of the front seats. However, she did not join me, and when I turned to see what had happened, there was no lady. Looking all the way to the back of the car, I saw her waving to me frantically.
"Come here, boy," she cried. "Sit where you belong."
I thought she was kidding me so I stayed where I was, sort of acting cute. What did I care where she sat? Shucks, that woman came up to me and jerked me out of the seat. Quick as a flash she dragged me to the back of the car and pushed me into one of the rear seats. Then I saw the signs on the backs of the seats saying: FOR COLORED PASSENGERS ONLY.
"What do those signs say?" I asked.
"Don't ask so many questionsl Shut your mouth, you little fool."
There is something funny about those signs on the street cars in New Orleans. We colored folks used to get real kicks out of them when we got on a car at the picnic grounds or at Canal Street on a Sunday evening when we outnumbered the white folks. Automatically we took the whole car over, sitting as far up front as we wanted to. It felt good to sit up there once in a while. We felt a little more important than usual. I can't explain why exactly, but maybe it was because we weren't supposed to be up there.
When the car stopped at the corner of Tulane and Liberty Streets the woman said:
"All right, Louis. This is where we get off."
As we got off the car I looked straight down Liberty Street. Crowds of people were moving up and down as far as my eyes could see. It reminded me of James Alley, I thought, and if it weren't for grandma I would not miss the Alley much. However, I kept these thoughts to myself as we walked the two blocks to the house where Mayann was living. In a single room in a back courtyard she had to cook, wash, iron and take care of my baby sister. My first impression was so vivid that I remember it as if it was yesterday. I did not know what to think. All I knew was that I was with mama and that I loved her as much as grandma. My poor mother lay there before my eyes, very, very sick…
Oh God, a very funny feeling came over me and I felt like I wanted to cry again.
"So you did come to see your mother?" she said.
"Yes, mama."
"I was afraid grandma wouldn't let you. After all I realize I have not done what I should by you. But, son, mama will make it up. If it weren't for that no-good father of yours things would have gone better. I try to do the best I can. I am all by myself with my baby. You are still young, son, and have a long ways to go. Always remember when you're sick nobody ain't going to give you nothing. So try to stay healthy. Even without money your health is the best thing. I want you to promise me you will take a physic at least once a week as long as you live. Will you promise?"
"Yes, mother," I said.
"Good! Then hand me those pills in the top dresser drawer. They are in the box that says Coal Roller Pills. They're little bitty black pills."
The pills looked like Carter's Little Liver Pills, only they were about three times as black. After I had swallowed the three my mother handed me, the woman who had brought me said she had to leave.
"Now that your kid is here I've got to go home and cook my old man's supper."
When she had gone I asked mama if there was anything I could do for her.
"Yes," she said. "Look under the carpet and get that fifty cents. Go down to Zattermann's, on Rampart Street, and get me a slice of meat, a pound of red beans and a pound of rice. Stop at Stable's Bakery and buy two loaves of bread for a nickel. And hurry back, son."
It was the first time I had been out in the city without my grandma's guidance, and I was proud that my mother trusted me to go as far as Rampart Street. I was determined to do exactly as she said.
When I came out of the back court to the front of the house I saw a half a dozen ragged, snot-nosed kids standing on the sidewalk. I said hello to them very pleasantly.
After all I had come from James Alley which was a very tough spot and I had seen some pretty rough fellows. However, the boys in the Alley had been taught how to behave in a nice way and to respect other people. Everyone said good morning and good evening, asked their blessings before meals and said their prayers. Naturally I figured all the kids everywhere had the same training.
When they saw how clean and nicely dressed I was they crowded around me.
"Hey, you. Are you a mama's boy?" one of them asked.
"A mama's boy? What does that mean?" I asked.
"Yeah, that's what you are. A mama's boy."
"I don't understand. What do you mean?"
A big bully called One Eye Bud came pretty close up on me and looked over my white Lord Fauntleroy suit with its Buster Brown collar.
"So you don't understand, huh? Well, that's just too bad.
Then he scooped up a big handful of mud and threw it on the white suit I loved so much. I only had two. The other little ashy-legged, dirty-faced boys laughed while I stood there splattered with mud and rather puzzled what to do about it. I was young, but I saw the odds were against me; if I started a fight I knew I would be licked.
"What's the matter, mama's boy, don't you like it?" One Eye Bud asked me.
"No, I don't like it."
Then before I knew what I was doing, and before any of them could get ready, I jumped at him and smashed the little snot square in the mouth. I was scared and I hit as hard as I possibly could. I had his mouth and nose bleeding plenty. Those kids were so surprised by what I had done that they tore out as fast as they could go with One Eye Bud in the lead. I was too dumbfounded to run after them – and besides I didn't want to.
I was afraid Mayann would hear the commotion and hurt herself struggling out of bed. Luckily she did not, and I went off to do my errands.
When I came back mother's room was filled with visitors: a crowd of cousins I had never seen. Isaac Miles, Aaron Miles, Jerry Miles, Willie Miles, Louisa Miles, Sarah Ann Miles, Flora Miles (who was a baby) and Uncle Ike Miles were all waiting to see their new cousin, as they put it.
"Louis," my mother said, "I want you to meet some more of your family."
Gee, I thought, all of these people are my cousins?