The Help / Прислуга. Книга для чтения на английском языке

She open her mouth like she want to protest and I whisper my lie, I vomited, and she say go. Cause besides her own mother, there ain’t nothing Miss Leefolt scared of more than Negro diseases.

* * *

“Alright then. I’ll be back in thirty minutes. I’ll pull right up here at nine forty-five,” Miss Leefolt say through the passenger car window. Miss Leefolt dropping me off at the Jitney 14 to pick up what else we need for Thanksgiving tomorrow.

“You bring her back that receipt, now,” Miss Fredericks, Miss Leefolt’s mean old mama, say.

They all three in the front seat, Mae Mobley squeezed in the middle with a look so miserable you think she about to get a tetanus shot. Poor girl. Miss Fredericks supposed to stay two weeks this time.

“Don’t forget the turkey, now,” Miss Leefolt say. “And two cans of cranberry sauce.”

I smile. I only been cooking white Thanksgivings since Calvin Coolidge[71 - Calvin Coolidge – Калвин Кулидж (1872–1933), 30-й президент США (1923–1929)] was President.

“Quit squirming, Mae Mobley,” Miss Fredericks snap, “or I’ll pinch you.”

“Miss Leefolt, lemme take her in the store with me. Help me with my shopping.”

Miss Fredericks about to protest, but Miss Leefolt say, “Take her,” and fore I know it, Baby Girl done wormed her way over Miss Fredericks’ lap and is climbing out the window in my arms like I am the Lord Savior. I pull her up on my hip and they drive off toward Fortification Street, and Baby Girl and me, we giggle like a couple a schoolgirls.

I push open the metal door, get a cart, and put Mae Mobley up front, stick her legs through the holes. Long as I got my white uniform on, I’m allowed to shop in this Jitney. I miss the old days, when you just walk out to Fortification Street and there be the farmers with they wheelbarrows calling out, “Sweet potatoes, butter beans, string beans, okra. Fresh cream, buttermilk, yellow cheese, eggs.” But the Jitney ain’t so bad.

Least they got the good air-condition.

“Alrighty, Baby Girl. Less see what we need.”

In produce, I pick out six sweet potatoes, three handfuls a string beans. I get a smoked ham hock from the butcher. The store is bright, lined up neat. Nothing like the colored Piggly Wiggly with sawdust on the floor. It’s mostly white ladies, smiling, got they hair already fixed and sprayed for tomorrow. Four or five maids is shopping, all in they uniforms.