February 8, 2020, mid-morning
Back at the house after breakfast, everybody settled into their usual places. Miss Jasmine started:
“We were married May 10, 1950, just three days after meeting at the market. Our daughter Roberta was born February 10, 1951. She was delivered by Dr. Alexander, one of the first black obstetricians in Tallahassee. Before that, most babies—including white babies—were delivered by midwives. The FAMU hospital had various specialist doctors, but not obstetrics, but of course all of the doctors knew how to deliver babies. Eventually in the 1960s Dr. Alexander helped to integrate Tallahassee’s white hospital. Sam, I believe that is where you and your sister were born. Kenneth was born at the FAMU hospital.
“During the time I was pregnant, I read Vidas secas multiple times and explained it to Leopold. It was a short novel but had lots of things unfamiliar to me about Brazil. Basically, a lot of the local plant life and animal life that would have existed in Brazil’s northeast. Words like caatinga, juazeiro, and the rock gut alcohol made from sugarcane called cachaça. Leopold was able to get some botany books from the FAMU library that described a lot of Brazil’s vegetation, which was helpful when formally translating.
“At first, I would read to Leopold in the evening, translating into English. Leopold would sit on the couch next to me with his hand on my belly, waiting to feel some kicks. He would say things like, ‘Ouch, she kicks like a girl!’ Or, ‘She has a girl’s touch; we are naming her Roberta!’
“I asked how he knew she’d be a girl, and he said, grinning, ‘I put her seed in you.’
“Occasionally, he would make a comment on my translations, like ‘I think that sounds odd in English,’ but mostly I think he wanted to feel the baby in my belly.
“Most of what I translated seemed acceptable to Leopold, and I think it took us a month to get through the first reading.
“After that, Leopold said, ‘I bet you could publish this as a translation if I helped you write it down.’
“It never occurred to me that something I translated could be published, even though much of what I had read in Portuguese was translated from Spanish or English. I also knew that Leopold had written a book for learning Latin. We used his book in high school, and I think you saw it over there on the shelf. It contained some explanation about Greek gods written in Latin, so Cupid and Psyche.
“The second time through Vidas secas, I would translate, Leopold would write in a notebook by hand, and when we got to the plant life, he would put those words in a separate list.
“‘We can explain these in notes,’ he said. ‘That’s how a lot of translations are done.’
“So that’s what we did. This process was slower, but at the end of two months we translated the entire book, including the notes. I wasn’t convinced we could get this book published, but it was quality time with Leopold and Little Roberta. After those two months Leopold said, ‘Now we are going to do a final draft to send to a publisher.’
“Leopold bought some nicer notebooks, the same ones you see in the drawer. I asked him if maybe he should type the translation. He said with typing he would have to sit at a desk, and he wanted to sit with me and the baby. Besides, if a publisher was interested, they would be fine with longhand, he said. Not to mention, Leopold said if he typed, he would probably make mistakes and those would be hard to correct.
“We spent another two months on the couch translating. This time I had Leopold’s first draft. I would read and compare with the original and make some corrections. But I was mostly satisfied with that first written draft, so we did not make a lot of changes. I would get the translation together in my head, read to Leopold, and he would carefully write it down. This process took three months. When we finished, the translation was in two notebooks, translated by me and transcribed by Leopold. He said now that it was finished, he would get some of it typeset and send samples to different publishers.
“But we were close to Roberta’s due date and stopped focusing on the translation. To me, translating had been a joyful activity, and I derived enjoyment just looking at the notebooks when Leopold was at school. Those notebooks reminded me of the wonderful months we spent together, and now when I look at them, they still do. Life had given me a beautiful man with a beautiful mind, and soon we would have a beautiful daughter.
“From my experience with Sheriff Ortega, I had already learned one of life’s most important lessons: that tragedy can fade. The tragedy doesn’t become less real, but it can recede into the background. Eventually, Sheriff Ortega’s book brought untold joy into my life. Mrs. Atkins had instructed me, ‘Get over it,’ and I did. Even though I still consider Sheriff Ortega an evil man.
“That year, Christmas added to the beauty. I was big, and we decided to decorate the house. Leopold got a tree; we got some lights at Sears and made some ornaments. Leopold laughed and told me, ‘It’s ironic, you know. We are both atheists, Christmas is a religious holiday, and Christmas trees predate Christianity. We can dupe everybody and celebrate Christmas ironically.’
“For Christmas that year, Leopold gave me various things, but the best was the painting of White Jesus with his white disciples. Another irony. Leopold said, ‘Of course Jesus wasn’t white. Black people will follow a white man to the ends of the earth but won’t stand up for their rights.’
“I just loved that picture, and that’s why it’s hanging over the bookshelf. That spot in the house is an altar for Leopold. Even though he left me early, he left me with the experience of love, so I can’t regret, and won’t forget.
“That year for Christmas, we invited Mrs. Atkins for dinner. Besides me, the person Leopold respected most in the world was Mrs. Atkins. ‘There’s nothing I could ever do to repay Mrs. Atkins for directing you into my life. At least we can invite her to dinner. She’s an atheist, it will be ironic!’
“Mrs. Atkins came with a companion. Her name was Kat Sulleman, an educator. In 1947 An elementary school was named after her. Sam, that’s where you went to elementary school, and when school segregation finally ended, Kenneth went to fifth grade there. Miss Sulleman was what people called a spinstress. She had sold her house and moved in with Mrs. Atkins. I asked if she had moved into my old room.
“‘Oh no,’ said Miss Sulleman. ‘I sleep with Roberta.’
“‘In the same bed,’ said Mrs. Atkins. ‘May I give you another ladle of your most excellent gravy?’ she said to me, grinning as she ladled.
“Then she ladled some gravy for Leopold. ‘You may have some too, sir. Even if you are a piece of shit.’
“‘Don’t forget that I’m a dirty pig,’ said Leopold, ‘and I can have two servings, please, ma’am.’
“‘Oh my!’ said Mrs. Atkins. ‘We forgot to say grace. And it’s Christmas!’
“We all laughed. I did not say anything out loud, but I thought how ironic, the most well-known elementary school in the city of Tallahassee is named for a lesbian. And now she was our friend.
“That night after they had left, Leopold said, ‘Jasmine, I don’t want you to think less of Mrs. Atkins because she sleeps with a woman. Those two are in love, just like you and me.’
“I said, ‘Leopold, growing up there were several spinstresses who lived together. People didn’t think much about it. Some people might whisper, but most people just minded their own business. I’ll tell you this. If I ever hear anybody badmouthing those two, they’re going to get a piece of my mind!’
“After Christmas, things went happily and smoothly. Leopold said we could wait until Roberta was born before looking for publishers. He wanted to spend time with me and her. By January, he was doing most of the housework, including the cooking. Lord, that man knew how to make the best biscuits!
“Lard, he swore, was the secret. ‘Not butter, lard. If you bake flour and lard together, you can’t go wrong. And you can still put butter on the biscuits.’
“Of course, that first time he tasted one of my biscuits, lard was the secret ingredient.
“Here we are, happy as clams, and on February 1st Leopold says he doesn’t feel well. He has a pain in his abdomen. He can hardly look me in the eye. He starts throwing up, and he has a fever. I knew he needed to go to the doctor, so I called Mrs. Atkins to see if she could help.
“She comes over with Miss Sulleman. They get us in the car, me and Leopold in the back seat; he threw up on me and Little Roberta a few times. We drove to the FAMU hospital—that’s the only place blacks could go. It didn’t take long to see a doctor, who immediately said it was appendicitis. He said Leopold needed to have surgery, now! Funny, that reminded me of Mrs. Atkins telling the minister, ‘You need to get them married, now!’
“That recollection made me calm.
“Here we are in the waiting room. Me as big as a bus, Mrs. Atkins, and Kat Sulleman the educator. Two white lesbians, a pregnant black woman, and various other black people waiting for their family members. A doctor came out and came straight up to me. He said, ‘Mrs. Jasmine Barnes? I’m afraid it’s not good.’
“I waited for him to explain. Mrs. Sulleman asked, ‘What do you mean not good?’
“‘I mean not good, ma’am. He has had an allergic reaction to the anesthesia. He’s no longer with us.’
“‘Are you the surgeon?’ asked Mrs. Atkins.
“‘No, ma’am, the surgeon has had to move to another patient. It’s tragic, but the hospital doesn’t save everybody. I deliver babies. I’m Doctor Alexander. There have been a lot of patients tonight and the hospital is short-staffed. I’m just trying to help out. Miss Jasmine, it looks like maybe I’ll see you again in a few days.’
“Dr. Alexander took his leave and left us there.
“I didn’t cry. I can’t say I wasn’t in shock, but I remember thinking Leopold was a great man; he was giving me a daughter and had given me a new life. Now he had left me and left me those notebooks. I didn’t care about publishing anymore. I just wanted to take care of the baby and sometimes look at the notebooks and the White Jesus.
“We got back to the house, this house, and Mrs. Atkins told me I should clean up. She drew me a bath and waited outside the bathroom while I bathed. I remember looking at my huge naked belly and thinking Leopold must be in there somewhere.
“‘Leopold, you are a piece of shit,’ I was telling him. ‘Knocking me up, then buying the farm before the harvest is out of the orchard. I love you.’
“He would have laughed and touched my belly to check the harvest.
“I came out of the bathroom and Mrs. Atkins handed me some clothes.
“‘You should get some rest, dear. We can stay here. Kat and I can sleep on the couch.’
“So that’s what we did. I went into our room, closed the door, and said, ‘Thank you, Leopold’ before I fell asleep.
“I slept well, and when I woke up I found Mrs. Atkins asleep sitting on the couch with Miss Sulleman snuggled on her shoulder, snoring. I tiptoed into the kitchen and started to make Leopold’s famous lard biscuits.
“Just nine days later, Roberta was born at the same hospital where Leopold died, delivered by Dr. Alexander. Mrs. Atkins and Miss Sulleman were with me. Like Leopold, Dr. Alexander was youngish and handsome. He came and visited me in the room, and little Roberta was sleeping across my chest. I had not anticipated the meaning and joy it was to become a mother. This young, precious life that had come out of me.
“Dr. Alexander asked, ‘Ma’am, did they give you some ice cream?’
“‘Yes, sir, I had two bowls. One chocolate and one vanilla.’
“‘And Miss Jasmine, Leopold Barnes was your husband?’
“‘That’s right, sir. It was just over a week ago you told me he passed. And here you are delivering his baby.’
“‘You know, Miss Jasmine, my mother would tell me we don’t get choices in life, that life just hands us our destiny.’
“‘That sounds right to me, Dr. Alexander. Life has given me some destinies nobody would ask for. But also given me this beautiful baby, thank you.’
“‘Miss Jasmine, I was worried about your emotions. We call it postpartum depression. But you seem like you’ve got a grip and are doing okay. You’re lucky to have these two ladies taking care of you. We’ll see each other again, I’m sure, but I still have some rounds to make.’
“With that, Dr. Alexander exited, and the three of us just sat smiling and goo-gooing at Roberta. Then a nurse came in with two bowls of chocolate ice cream for Mrs. Atkins and Miss Sulleman.
“‘The doctor said to give you two ladies this ice cream.’
“They smiled and took the ice cream. The nurse looked around to make sure that there was nobody else listening and said mostly to herself, ‘Dr. Alexander is so handsome and kind. People say he’s had his hand up nearly every black woman’s private spot, and maybe some white ones too! I wonder how his wife abides by that. Probably an alcoholic, whoo-wee!’
“‘Not me,’ said Kat.
“‘Speak for yourself,’ said Roberta.
Miss Jasmine had finished her story.
She said, “I think it’s time for lunch. And then a nap. What do you say, Whale?”
Hearing her name, Whale got up and ran to the kitchen for a look before running to the front door so Larry could let her out.