Page 18 of Mazywood

“Tell that damn dog to hush that racket,” Aunt Ruby said. “I’m trying to sleep.”

Mazelle didn’t answer, sniffling. Her throat felt so stuffed with tears that she doubted she could make a sound. Scout howled more loudly. She could have silenced him with a thought, but the raw loneliness and pain in Scout’s sad song was in perfect harmony with her own.

“Did you hear me? Better shut him up, or I’ll go out there and—”

“You won’t do anything to Scout, you stupid cow!” Mazelle shrieked. The words tore at her throat. Her rage at Aunt Ruby’s unwillingness to love her made her body shake. Aunt Ruby hadn’t hugged her or said a kind word since the news about Mother.

On the porch, Scout was barking. A bang sounded against the front door.

At first, Aunt Ruby stood in the doorway completely still, and Mazelle dared to hope that all she’d needed to do all this time was put her in her place.

“Nigger gal—what did you just say to me?” Aunt Ruby said. Mazelle had been called that awful word by a few passing children in Gracetown, but never by another Negro. Mother and Daddy hated that word. Mother had read her a poem called “Incident” by Countee Cullen about what a terrible word it was, and she already knew she would remember this night with Aunt Ruby for the rest of her life, just like the boy in the poem.

“Leave me alone!” Mazelle said. She couldn’t raise her voice, already hoarse.

“You think you’re gonna call me names ’cause you’re in the papers? You think you’re too good for a whipping? They’ve spoiled you to death. Well, no more!”

Instinct told Mazelle to jump out of her bed to run, but Aunt Ruby’s reflexes were quick for someone with so much gray in her hair. Aunt Ruby wrapped a large palm around Mazelle’s arm and yanked her until her feet dragged on the floor. She dragged her toward her doorway.

“Ow!” Mazelle protested. “Stop! You’re hurting me!”

While Aunt Ruby pulled Mazelle past the foyer to the living room, then to the dining room, and then the kitchen, Scout’s paws thumped on the front door as he barked from the porch. Each time Aunt Ruby tugged, Mazelle had to fight for her footing so she wouldn’t be dragged like Danny Wu on the blanket. Her nightshirt bunched up over her thighs, exposing her nakedness. Every wrench from Aunt Ruby hurt her shoulder and seemed to pull her a mile.

She rarely was alone with Aunt Ruby, and no one in her life had manhandled her this way. Why had she pulled her into the kitchen? What was she going to do to her there? For the first time, Mazelle was afraid for her life in her own house.

Mazelle gathered air in her lungs and hoped the neighbors would hear. “Stop it!”

The kitchen floor was cold against Mazelle’s bare soles. The only light was from the open door to Aunt Ruby’s room, so Mazelle didn’t see her pick up the steel cooking spoon until she felt the pain from Aunt Ruby’s blows across her bare thighs and buttocks.

“Don’t… you… ever… sass back at me!” Aunt Ruby said, punctuating each word with the spoon.

Compared to the blunt sting of the hairbrush, the thin spoon was a fiery whip. Mazelle screamed, sure she must be bleeding.

The beating only stopped when they heard the growling.

Scout stood in the kitchen entryway, impossibly inside the house. The shaft of light from Aunt Ruby’s room shone across half of Scout’s face, enough to glisten his bared teeth.

“Scout—help!” Mazelle said, but Scout didn’t need her to call him. Scout was lunging.

“I’ll knock you out!” Aunt Ruby said. She flung Mazelle away to swing her angry blows at Scout instead. Mazelle screamed, worried she might kill him.

But Scout was quick, dodging his head away from her swinging spoon. He lunged again, this time snapping his teeth into the back of Aunt Ruby’s thin housedress, yanking her the way she had yanked Mazelle, wrenching her off balance with his deceptive strength.

“Damn dirty dog—!” Aunt Ruby said right before she fell. The next sound was the thunk of her head across the sharp edge of the kitchen counter.

From the loud sound of her skull on the countertop, Mazelle feared (hoped?) that Aunt Ruby might be knocked out, or even dead—but an enraged, guttural shriek told her otherwise. Aunt Ruby pulled herself up from the floor, her hand pressed to her forehead. Blood seeped from between her fingertips above her wild eyes.

“Are you all right?” Mazelle whispered.

With another shriek, Aunt Ruby picked up the large cast-iron skillet from the dish rack, wielding the thick handle with both hands. She swayed as if she were dizzy, but she held on. Her eyes glared from the thin streak of blood across the top half of her face, a macabre party mask.

Aunt Ruby had murder in her eyes. Mazelle backed against the kitchen table, frozen in shock. All she could do was raise her hands to protect her head. “Please don’t hurt me—”

But Aunt Ruby whirled instead toward Scout, who was barking with such fervor that spittle and foam flew from his mouth. Scout lunged again, but Aunt Ruby swung the heavy skillet at him with such surprising precision that Scout backed away.

“Come on!” Aunt Ruby challenged Scout. “Wish I had my shotgun! But I don’t need no gun to brain you, you filthy stinking dog!”

Had Mazelle dreamed this moment? As if Scout understood her—and of course he did!—Scout turned to scamper away the instant before Mazelle said, “Run, Scout!”