Making Callaloo in Detroit

Over the Belle Isle Boundary

97  Sadie and Marqway He loves things of which he has a present need. —Socrates to Agathon from Plato’s Republic Your love is like a state of malnutrition, a murder one conviction that I can’t appeal. —from “Your Love is a Business Proposition,” a song by Leonard King I. It was Sadie’s first time frying chicken the way her mama does. Grease was spattering all over the stove, on the wall, on the floor, and edges of the chicken were burning. But she had put eggs in the batter to coat the fowl, just like her mama, and tested the grease with droplets of water, just like her mama, so she had every confidence that that chicken would be good for her man, Marqway. Why not? He always liked her mama’s. It was a hot day, too. The kind you wear a muumuu in and only 98  Lolita Hernandez wash your face and armpits. But she also decided to wear lipstick, thick and red and smeared by the time she was midway through frying the stack of legs and wings and thighs in the heat. Who knows why she wore lipstick? He didn’t even like it, but she was convinced that red lips were what he really needed, and when you haveyourmaninyourheart,youknowwhat’sbestforhimandforyou. So Sadie was frying that chicken and singing “I’m in Love Under New Management” when Marqway appeared at the back door, framed by a few fuzzies from trapped dandelion seeds, a few dead flies and clots of city pollution trapped in the screen door behind him. There he was, tall and slim and darker than usual because at late afternoon on thewestsideof Detroit,summersuncastsashadowonthebackporch. She almost died. Really. In a way that her heart split in two and felt heavy then fell to her stomach. That’s how she died. As she looked through the screen, behind his eyes and saw nothing. She died. This is what was in her mind—that the chicken’s burnt edges and the odor in the kitchen and the muumuu displeased him. But you can’t fry chicken in something sexy, and burnt edges could be cut off. Anyone should know that. Hey, baby, she said. I’m cookin special for you. He didn’t open the door; he didn’t step one inch into the kitchen. It’s Saturday, baby, she said again. What we gonna do tonight? Then she jumped and immediately rushed to the sink. Forget Marqway. Grease had splattered onto the end of her nose. Oh my, it hurt. She shoved aside a mountain of dishes and bowls she had used in preparing the chicken, leaned her head into a space in the deep wellnicked sink, and stuck her nose under the long old-fashioned faucet. 99  Sadie and Marqway Really, she was under the faucet for only a few seconds, but the water felt so cool and the day was hot and she realized her body was, too. Soon she stuck her whole face under the running cold water. Then she was splashing the top part of herself, including her armpits, and rehashing things. Why did he arrive so early? She was almost finished cooking and would have showered. She would have fixed herself up. She would have had time to cut off the edges of the chicken. If necessary, she would have stripped off the skin and presented the chicken as heart-smart. I’m thinking of you, baby. I’m thinking of our life together. And she was having fun trying to cook for him. Why did Marqway interrupt that and discover her in such a state? This was what was on Sadie’s mind for the few seconds she was under the faucet trying to prevent her nose from becoming a blistering projection six inches above the muumuu. When she looked up, he was gone. II. Dusk rolled into the city, and her brother, DeJuan, tripped into the kitchen through the same back screen door as Marqway. This time the gray dusk hid the screen’s imperfections, but mosquitoes darted back and forth, hoping for a way in. One was successful and trailed DeJuan until he plopped down at the kitchen table where Sadie sat lost in thought. But the mosquito chose to land on her neck. DeJuan casually reached over and slapped at it. Boy, leave me alone. 100  Lolita Hernandez Oh...