they would tear each other to bits over this food, which did not look all that good to me anyway, mostly bones. Why were they fed like this? Where were their dog bowls? The woman threw the pan itself out in the yard and they fought over it, too, and licked it clean.
“This is Aunt Roe,” Ella Jean said of the woman, who did not look any too pleased to see us. Probably because I am one more mouth to feed, I realized, resolving to eat as little as possible.
“Very pleased to meet you, ma’am,” I said.
She nodded at me curtly but said nothing. Her nose was sharp, her eyes too close together.
We trooped up onto the porch, where I was surprised to find that the pile of quilts in the corner actually contained Ella Jean’s Granny, the one she was always talking about. “Granny has got the sight,” she had said. Surely this was the oldest person I had ever seen, the oldest person in the whole world.
Ella Jean pulled me over there. “Granny?” she shouted. “Granny? This here is Evalina, the one I’ve been telling you about.”
The old eyes opened, bright as buttons. She reached out a skinny claw to grab me. Her hand was warm, and as she stroked my own, I felt a warm sense of well-being flow throughout me.
“I’m so glad to meet you,” I said sincerely.
“ ’Bout time,” she said in a voice surprisingly clear. She continued to look straight at me while holding my hand, now smoothing my palm again and again with her light, papery touch. Ella Jean stood uncharacteristically still, watching intently. I found myself closing my eyes for a minute, completely at peace. I opened them just in time to see a change come over Granny’s face, a grave sort of settling as she leaned back among her quilts. “Honey, honey,” she whispered fiercely then, balling my hand up into a fist and squeezing it so hard that I almost cried out in pain before she released me. Ella Jean grabbed me and pulled me back. I felt relieved, and a little scared.
“Is she your grandmother or your great-grandmother?” I asked, jealous because I had neither, but Ella Jean just laughed at me. “One or t’other,” she said. “I don’t reckon it matters, does it?”
“I don’t reckon it does,” I said.
Inside, the log house was a jumble, with no regular furniture in the front room save for a giant handmade wooden wardrobe and Granny’s iron bed, pulled right up to the only window. Homemade mattresses—bedticks, they called them—were scattered across the floor beyond, along with several wooden chairs, trunks, and haphazard piles of clothing. A calendar from a funeral home and a long rifle hung on pegs above Granny’s bed. I could see why Wilmer might prefer to live in the barn! We threaded our way through the clutter, following Aunt Roe’s summons into the added-on “kitchen,” such as it was. She stood at the black cookstove dishing out food from two black pots and a skillet; Baby Doll already sat at the big wooden table, reading a comic book while she ate from a battered tin plate before her, along with the little boys, Billy Ed and Mister, who perched together on a sort of high homemade bench and ate their beans and cornbread with their hands from a single plate, literally shoveling it in. Longhaired, sweet-faced Wilmer appeared at the back door to receive a heaping plate of steaming food, then stumbled back out with it. Or at least I thought he stumbled—later on, I would realize that this was the way he walked.
“Isn’t he going to eat with us?” I asked Ella Jean.
“He don’t never eat with nobody,” she said.
Aunt Roe did not even look at us as she handed Ella Jean and me our plates of green beans, cornbread cut from the skillet, and something mysterious from the other pot. I had a special plate—blue and white china. Ella Jean grabbed us two dishrags for napkins and we took our seats at the bare wooden table just as Baby Doll got up. Aunt Roe gave her a plate to take out for Granny.
“She won’t eat hardly a
“This is Aunt Roe,” Ella Jean said of the woman, who did not look any too pleased to see us. Probably because I am one more mouth to feed, I realized, resolving to eat as little as possible.
“Very pleased to meet you, ma’am,” I said.
She nodded at me curtly but said nothing. Her nose was sharp, her eyes too close together.
We trooped up onto the porch, where I was surprised to find that the pile of quilts in the corner actually contained Ella Jean’s Granny, the one she was always talking about. “Granny has got the sight,” she had said. Surely this was the oldest person I had ever seen, the oldest person in the whole world.
Ella Jean pulled me over there. “Granny?” she shouted. “Granny? This here is Evalina, the one I’ve been telling you about.”
The old eyes opened, bright as buttons. She reached out a skinny claw to grab me. Her hand was warm, and as she stroked my own, I felt a warm sense of well-being flow throughout me.
“I’m so glad to meet you,” I said sincerely.
“ ’Bout time,” she said in a voice surprisingly clear. She continued to look straight at me while holding my hand, now smoothing my palm again and again with her light, papery touch. Ella Jean stood uncharacteristically still, watching intently. I found myself closing my eyes for a minute, completely at peace. I opened them just in time to see a change come over Granny’s face, a grave sort of settling as she leaned back among her quilts. “Honey, honey,” she whispered fiercely then, balling my hand up into a fist and squeezing it so hard that I almost cried out in pain before she released me. Ella Jean grabbed me and pulled me back. I felt relieved, and a little scared.
“Is she your grandmother or your great-grandmother?” I asked, jealous because I had neither, but Ella Jean just laughed at me. “One or t’other,” she said. “I don’t reckon it matters, does it?”
“I don’t reckon it does,” I said.
Inside, the log house was a jumble, with no regular furniture in the front room save for a giant handmade wooden wardrobe and Granny’s iron bed, pulled right up to the only window. Homemade mattresses—bedticks, they called them—were scattered across the floor beyond, along with several wooden chairs, trunks, and haphazard piles of clothing. A calendar from a funeral home and a long rifle hung on pegs above Granny’s bed. I could see why Wilmer might prefer to live in the barn! We threaded our way through the clutter, following Aunt Roe’s summons into the added-on “kitchen,” such as it was. She stood at the black cookstove dishing out food from two black pots and a skillet; Baby Doll already sat at the big wooden table, reading a comic book while she ate from a battered tin plate before her, along with the little boys, Billy Ed and Mister, who perched together on a sort of high homemade bench and ate their beans and cornbread with their hands from a single plate, literally shoveling it in. Longhaired, sweet-faced Wilmer appeared at the back door to receive a heaping plate of steaming food, then stumbled back out with it. Or at least I thought he stumbled—later on, I would realize that this was the way he walked.
“Isn’t he going to eat with us?” I asked Ella Jean.
“He don’t never eat with nobody,” she said.
Aunt Roe did not even look at us as she handed Ella Jean and me our plates of green beans, cornbread cut from the skillet, and something mysterious from the other pot. I had a special plate—blue and white china. Ella Jean grabbed us two dishrags for napkins and we took our seats at the bare wooden table just as Baby Doll got up. Aunt Roe gave her a plate to take out for Granny.
“She won’t eat hardly a
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