Lila said, “I never knew there was such a place.”
And Doll said, “Didn’t I warn you.” No, you didn’t. But I guess you must have told me something. How else did I know to come here to just purely hate my life, hate everything about it, my damn body, my damn face, the damn misery in my heart because I got nothing to care about. How did that Mack get in there to devil me the way he does, when I never meant him one bit of harm? She thought, If I could hate him, too, that would make things easier. Nothing was supposed to be easier, she knew that. Once, when Mrs. was gone, somebody left a door unlocked and a preacher got in. He said a word or two about hell before they pushed him back out. She’d heard about it before anyway, at a camp meeting. Maybe that’s how she knew to come here, thinking it might be where she belonged. But it was taking so long. Worse every day, because it was the same every day. It wasn’t the end of anything. And she was beginning to think now and then about sunshine, and the smell of the air. Trees. She thought, I’m just doing that to devil myself.
Well, she better start shoveling the coal. She was only used to a wood fire. So she’d have to be careful not to put too much in too fast. Stir the coals and then build up the fire so she could see what she was doing. She knew a boiler could burst if something happened, it got too hot or heated up too fast. Then the coals would fly everywhere and the whole damn house would burn down, probably. She could fill it up, leaving just enough room for her to crawl in after and close the door. Boom! She’d go flying, a flaming piece of her right into that girl’s face, that Peg, and another one into Rita’s lap, where she was always picking at her fingernails until they were bloody, and another one into the room where they kept the dress-up clothes when the gentlemen weren’t around. And Mack would see her, all fire like that, and he’d probably be laughing, thinking he’d done it. He’d touch her cheek and the fire would come away on his hand and he’d probably just lick it off. He’d say, Now, that’s the kind of girl a man would marry! Telling that damn lie again just to see if she could burn any hotter than fire.
Doll said, “You’re standing here in a cellar, barefoot in the dark, talking to yourself. This ain’t how I brought you up.”
Lila said, I got that plan about working around the place.
“You know how I got this scar? A girl just as crazy as you’re getting to be heated up an iron skillet as hot as she could make it, and then when I come in the kitchen she hit me with it. Broke the bone in my cheek and who knows what all. I was as good as dead for a long time, and when I woke up, I had this face for the rest of my life.”
Lila thought, How do I know that? Did she tell me sometime?
“You was a sickly child, and I told you old stories because my voice was a comfort to you. You remember.”
I’m talking to myself. Seeing things in the dark. Slipping away. Maybe it don’t matter.
Doll said, “Well, I tell you what. If I was still living I wouldn’t waste it standing around in no cellar wishing I was dead. You sure never learned that from me. I’m surprised you can hold up your head.”
Most times I can’t.
Do it anyway. That was her way of speaking.
There she was, missing Doll again. For so many years she had belonged to somebody. The cow and her calf. That was all right, because Doll wanted her there beside her. The way they used to laugh together, half the joke being that nobody else would know what the joke was. Now here she had this preacher, maybe the kindest man in the world, and no idea what to do with him. And here she had his baby, and what did she know about bringing up his child? She was reading the Bible, thinking she might understand what he was talking about sometimes, what he and old Boughton were laughing about, arguing over, but her mind would go off on its own and she’d be back in the cellar, farther away than ever. Or she’d be slipping off with that child in her arms, and she’d be whispering right in her ear, her cheek against the child’s hair, telling her what there was growing by the road that was good to eat and what was good to heal a sore, and they’d be whispering and laughing together when they found a way to get out of the rain, singing old songs together, the ones everybody knew that still felt like secrets when you taught them to a child. Sometime they’ll begin singing, and these are the words, you know them, too. Shall we gather at the river.
She had thought about all that, stealing off with a child, in the house in St. Louis. She came up out of the cellar that first morning and went straight to the kitchen, filthy as she was, and began scrubbing. Everything was greasy, and there was food scorched onto the pots and pans so they gave off smoke every time they were put on the stove. Everything was dusky with old smoke. Mice in the pantry. Mrs. came in and watched what she was doing for a minute or two. Lila
