Queen Sugar

by Natalie Baszile

I have a field on my mind that needs plowing. —Anne Wilkes Tucker

Until the 1970s, the few square blocks of ravaged ground known as Tee Coteau were strictly Cajun—poor farmers from the backcountry and scruffy fishermen who, nightly, blew off steam in the dingy bucket-of-blood bars. In the last twenty years the population had changed. First blacks moved in, then Mexicans, followed by Vietnamese in the early nineties, and in the last ten years, Laotians had staked their claim. But Tee Coteau had never lost its lower-than-blue-collar roots or seedy reputation, which was probably why Ralph Angel was so fascinated with the place; something about the narrow streets, the dingy bars, and dilapidated houses with junk cars parked in the yard felt familiar, comforting.

“Uncle Ralph Angel has memorized the whole Bible,” Micah said. She yanked his arm. “Say that thing about clean hands.” “What’s this?” Charley said. “Your daughter’s overstating things,” Ralph Angel said, looking sheepish. “The other day I told her I used to memorize Bible verses for Sunday school.” “Whatever,” Micah said. “Just say it again, so Mom can hear.” “Okay. But one time and that’s it.” Ralph Angel took a breath, closed his eyes. “‘Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord or who shall stand in his holy place? He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart; who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity nor sworn deceitfully. He shall receive the blessing from the Lord, and righteousness from the God of his salvation.’ Psalm twenty-four, verses three through five.”

“Yeah, well. The Lord and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms, but some things are just hardwired, you know? ‘For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God.’ Ephesians, chapter two, verse eight.”

“I can barely afford to buy gas,” Charley said. “If I can’t afford that, I can’t afford to pay you, and you can’t work for free. If I could hire you now with the promise of paying you after the harvest, I would, but I’m not sure there’ll be any profit. Hell, I’ll not sure there will be any cane to harvest.” Still, he was her brother—her disinherited brother. She reached for her purse and pulled her last twenty from her wallet. “It’s all I have. I’m sorry.” As she held out the money, Charley thought of the old black veteran who peddled newspapers outside her neighborhood market back in Los Angeles—not a fancy market, but still a decent one, with its crates of freshly picked produce, and bulk bins of grain, and cuts of meat laid between sheets of butcher paper. All day, every day, he stood there, politely, in his dirty veteran’s cap, with his pulpy, smudged newspapers in one hand and frayed American flag in the other. She always thanked him as she bought a paper, slipped him an extra dollar. And sometimes she didn’t buy a paper at all, just gave him the money. “It’s all I have,” she’d say.

For a moment, she thought about explaining the trust: that every expense had to be backed up with receipts; that if she made one false move she’d lose everything.

Before he went back to Houston, Uncle Brother had warned her the house would be tight with Ralph Angel in it. Charley thought about how Violet had said, as she left the reunion, that things wouldn’t work out if Ralph Angel were allowed to stay. Now she understood.

When Ralph Angel was gone, Charley closed the door, and as soon as she did, a surge of adrenaline shot through her so that her whole body tingled and she had to lean her head against the door, close her eyes. Through the door, she could hear the faint sounds of the TV coming from the den, and behind her, through the open window as the warm air drifted in under the curtains, the sound of Miss Marti next door, dropping an empty bottle in her trash can and dragging it to the curb. Charley stood there until the anxious feeling passed, then she sat on the bed. She wasn’t afraid of Ralph Angel, but she could never trust him. He wasn’t the person she’d hoped he would be.

Charley picked up her backpack. She’d clearly overstayed her welcome. It was like her father said: Never make people glad twice—glad to see you come, and glad to see you go.

“You know why you’re disappointed in Remy Newell, why you’re so angry with yourself? Because you thought he was the complete package. Southern accent, progressive politics, and all. You forgot he’s just a man. Now, don’t misunderstand, there’s nothing wrong with men; I like having them around. But you’ve already got what you need, sugar.” And here, Violet reached for Charley and hugged her, and Charley felt the softness of Violet’s neck, and smelled the lingering fragrance of her night cream and exhaled. “Just keep doing what you’re doing, Charley,” Violet said. “Take care of your child, get your fields planted, stay right with God, and you’ll be just fine.”

Thou wilt shew me the path of life: in thy presence is fullness of joy; at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore, Ralph Angel thought, before he could stop himself.

“God is good all the time. I’ve been praying for something like this. All that talent you got?” “I’m not sure the Lord has much to do with this,” Ralph Angel said, “but thanks.” “What do you mean?” ’Da said. “The Lord’s got everything to do with this. ‘And all these blessings shall come on thee, and overtake thee, if thou shalt hearken unto the voice of the Lord thy God.’ Deuteronomy, chapter twenty-eight, verse two.” She wiped her hands on a dish towel, then slung it over her shoulder. “You’re not sure what the Lord has to do with this? I know I raised you better than that.”

Charley put her hand to her mouth, and for a moment, she could have sworn her heart would burst through her chest. She looked down at her hand and was surprised to discover that her fingers were wet from crying. But who cared? Because how often, really, do you get to see someone’s dream come true? How often, on this great spinning ball where we’re all just struggling to lead our tiny lives, do you get to see evidence of God’s grace and know, the way you know your name, that at least for a little while, maybe just a few seconds, you can stop worrying, and take a deep breath, because things are all right? The float approached and Charley yelled Micah’s name. Beside her, Violet waved and screamed, and Blue jumped up and down while Miss Honey, Coke in hand, looking proud and slightly amused, watched it all from the comfort of her folding chair. As the float approached, Micah looked down and saw Charley. She waved and grinned and blew a kiss. And then the float passed by and glided down the street, and it was just another small-town parade.

“You know what Maman used to say about cane farming?” Hollywood said. “She used to say, ‘Cain killed Abel but I ain’t gonna let it kill me,’”

then he waited for them to get the joke.