February 8, 2020, afternoon
Storytelling at Miss Jasmine’s had become routine. After naptime everybody assumed their positions. Miss Jasmine continued.
“After Roberta was born, life quickly found a steady routine. Kat and Mrs. Atkins or Roberta A. had effectively moved in. They would take turns goo-goo-ing and holding Little Roberta. Often, we sat together content to not speak, amazed at our happiness together. A lot of neighborhood women dropped by to see Little Roberta, some of them certainly curious to see two well-to-do white lesbian aunties. Most visitors were women, so I didn’t have to be discreet about feeding Roberta. I don’t recall that Roberta ever cried until she started elementary school. More on that in a bit.
“One thing that made life secure was that Leopold had bought a life insurance policy way back when he started teaching Latin in 1930. He told me and Roberta A. about the policy soon after we were married, and none of us thought he would pass so young and so early into the marriage. Roberta A. made sure the policy was fulfilled quickly. She also looked into the mortgage with one of her bank friends who was some kind of a liberal.
“In a short time, the policy was paid out, and to everybody’s surprise it was enough money to pay off the house that Leopold had already been living in and paying on for twenty years. There was also quite a bit of cash left over so I didn’t need to find work, at least not immediately.
“Economically secure for the short run with two good friends and a joyful child, life was good. There wasn’t a day that I didn’t read a couple of pages from the translation so I could see Leopold’s handwriting. Most days I would look up at the picture and say, ‘Thank you, Jesus, for being so ironic.’”
“Roberta was a joy. She started crawling, pulling, standing, and walking at normal ages, but when we thought she would reach the talking stage, she started to hum and next sing. We often had music on from the record player, but the primary music she heard was the choir practice from the church down the street. A lot of spirituals and hymns with a heavy dose of ‘Jesus!’ Many of the singers sounded like they were baring their souls—such beautiful voices. Sometimes the day after choir practice Little Roberta would just sit and hum. She eventually started to babble, but babble while singing. You might say she could scat before she could sing or talk.
“When Little Roberta. was about five, we started to take her to church on Sundays so she could see and hear the singing up close. Kat and Roberta A. were into the music and into the service. They would rock and sway to the music and to the inspirational sermons. They let out a lot of amens, praise the Lords, and thank you, Jesuses. They were quite a hoot. All the church loved them, and Kat and Roberta A. never let on that their worship was an act. They wanted to be ironic, they told me. More importantly, they wanted Little Roberta to experience the singing.
“This is when Roberta started to talk.
“One Sunday in church they were singing ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.’ Little Roberta burst away from us in the pews and ran to the front of the church where the choir was. The music stopped, and the whole church was splitting their sides, laughing at this little girl. Roberta turned around and just grinned at everybody. People couldn’t stop laughing, but then Miss Amy said from the choir, ‘Would you like to sing with us, little girl?’
“Roberta nodded her head yes. Then the lady said, ‘Let me teach you. You sing after me.’
“Miss Amy sang, ‘Swing low, sweet chariot.’
“Roberta repeated: ‘Swee lo, swee chair ee aaa.’
“Then Miss Amy: ‘Coming for to carry me home.’
“And Roberta: ‘Come in for me to carry home.’
“Then again:
“‘Swing low, sweet chariot.’
“‘Swee lo, swee chair ee aaa.’
“And then together, both beaming:
“‘Come in for me to carry. Home.’
“The congregation applauded and laughed.
“I think you got it, honey. You stay up here with us and we’ll teach you the rest of this song,’ said Miss Amy. And then to the preacher:
“‘Reverend James, I know you have a fine sermon prepared, a fine sermon! But you need to save it for next week. We need to teach this girl to sing!’
“Reverend James feigned disappointment and put his typed sermon back in his coat pocket for the next week.
“Did I mention that Miss Amy had the most prodigious bosoms you can imagine? Veritable church bosoms! As she waited for Reverend James to respond, Amy pulled her shoulders back and pushed her bosoms forward.
“‘Praise the Lord!’ Reverend James said. ‘Make a joyful noise to the Lord!’
“And just like that our five-year-old girl who couldn’t talk joined the choir. She went to choir practice, sang on Sundays, sometimes singing solos under the direction of Miss Amy and her big bosoms. Bit by bit Roberta learned the words properly, bit by bit started to develop a soul-baring voice, and bit by bit talk to all the people in the choir. Not to mention she started talking to me, Roberta A., and to Kat.”