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Callaloo Pub Date : 2024-08-29 DOI:10.1353/cal.2024.a935743
Carla Du Pree
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Pack what you can, a week's worth of clothes. My sister's sick, and I need to see about her.\"</p> <p>It meant a journey home for M'dear, one rife with a dangling Southern past she rarely embraced but nudged away each time it came too close to touching down on her present life. A dirt floor and a desire never to return to it. A notion to say \"down south\" rather than Alabama, admitting it meant giving way to hardship and pain.</p> <p>M'dear came to us with heartbreak in her throat, her words heavy and thick, falling off her tongue—trying without success to ease the urgency that held her knotted hands in place. Sorrow roped around each word she offered. \"Place them here,\" she pointed as we gathered underwear and placed them in the open suitcase. \"Don't forget your socks.\"</p> <p>She came resigned.</p> <p>The first hint Aunt Myrna turned ill M'dear denied, brushed it off like lint from someone's shoulder. \"She's not feeling herself,\" she said out loud after one disturbing phone call from home. \"But Mama says she'll pull through just fine.\"</p> <p>The second time Aunt Myrna wouldn't speak on the phone. The only way to know she was on the other end was the rustling of sheets and the muffled moans that pricked the silence between M'dear asking, \"You there, Myrna? Hello, are you there?\"</p> <p>M'dear often said when people stare at death's door, they choose their own time to say goodbye to loved ones. One by one they give up speaking to them, purposely shutting that fateful door for good. I imagined my auntie's door closing on M'dear's face, and my mother's palm upright, braced to refuse it.</p> <p>On that last call she placed the telephone on the table, unable to usher the strength to lift it to its hook. She set it down, and a bit of craziness came to be a part of her day. I listened to the fraying ends of her sentences as she couldn't string two together. Dinner was a mess of rudely boiled rice and chicken too tough to eat.</p> <p>At the very sight of Daddy arriving home from work, M'dear appeared in the doorway, and collapsed in his arms, her face drawn and stricken. She couldn't pretend anymore. When he led her towards the couch, her long-held grief gave way. With her back bent, <strong>[End Page 133]</strong> her brown shoulders curved beneath my father's arms. She seemed not my mother at all, but a stranger in a body wracked with grief.</p> <p>In all my days I had not experienced M'dear tended to in that way. She was who we sought to buoy our spirits, the glue that held us when we lost best friends each time we moved. The world we used to know spilled away into one we would have to learn. She was the one eager for us to understand the landscape of a new home, on or off base, a military life versus a civilian one. She was the one who mapped a way out of no way, who held our feet to the fire of who we were, a Negro military family planting roots, building dreams when and where we could, holding our own. 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Sorrow roped around each word she offered. \\\"Place them here,\\\" she pointed as we gathered underwear and placed them in the open suitcase. \\\"Don't forget your socks.\\\"</p> <p>She came resigned.</p> <p>The first hint Aunt Myrna turned ill M'dear denied, brushed it off like lint from someone's shoulder. \\\"She's not feeling herself,\\\" she said out loud after one disturbing phone call from home. \\\"But Mama says she'll pull through just fine.\\\"</p> <p>The second time Aunt Myrna wouldn't speak on the phone. The only way to know she was on the other end was the rustling of sheets and the muffled moans that pricked the silence between M'dear asking, \\\"You there, Myrna? Hello, are you there?\\\"</p> <p>M'dear often said when people stare at death's door, they choose their own time to say goodbye to loved ones. One by one they give up speaking to them, purposely shutting that fateful door for good. 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引用次数: 0

摘要

以下是内容的简要摘录,以代替摘要: Home Going Carla Du Pree (bio) 我们谈到了那晚 M'dear 来到我们身边的多种方式,她的头发裹在毛巾里,高高地堆在头上,刚洗完澡。她悄无声息地来了,就像猫悄悄溜进房间夺走孩子的呼吸一样,偷走了我们的夜晚。她的脚步声照亮了道路,她一边走一边开灯。我被惊醒了--不是被灯光,而是她的睡衣在我脸旁发出的窸窣声,以及她身上散发出的柔和的麝香味。尤金妮亚说,是亲爱的妈妈在窥探她的梦境,她的脸紧绷着,忧心忡忡,声音如丝线般缠绕着她。亲爱的不想把我们从睡梦中惊醒,所以她轻声说:"醒醒,尤朵拉,尤金妮亚,品特。醒醒。收拾好你们能带的东西,一个星期的衣服。我妹妹病了 我得去看看她"这意味着亲爱的要踏上回家的旅途了 这一路上充斥着南方的往事 她很少拥抱这些往事 但每当这些往事离她现在的生活太近时 她都会轻轻地推开它们泥泞的土地,以及再也回不去的愿望。她想说的是 "南方",而不是阿拉巴马,承认这一点就意味着要面对艰难和痛苦。M'dear 带着心碎的情绪来到我们面前,她的话又重又稠,从她的舌尖滑落--试图缓解她紧紧握住的双手的紧迫感,但没有成功。悲伤缠绕着她的每一个字。"把它们放在这里,"她指着我们收拾内衣,把它们放在打开的手提箱里。"别忘了袜子。"她不辞而别。米尔纳姨妈一开始就否认了亲爱的 M'del'生病的事实,就像拂去别人肩上的棉絮一样。"她感觉不舒服,"她大声说 在一次从家里打来的令人不安的电话之后"但妈妈说她会挺过去的"第二次米尔娜姨妈在电话里不肯说话唯一能知道她在电话那头的方法就是床单的窸窣声和闷闷的呻吟声,在亲爱的问 "你在吗,米尔娜?"的间隙刺破了寂静。喂,你在吗?"亲爱的M'dear常说,当人们凝视着死亡之门时,他们会选择自己的时间与亲人告别。他们一个接一个地放弃和他们说话,故意永远关上那扇命运之门。我想象着姨妈的房门正对着 M'dear 的脸关上,母亲的手掌竖起,准备拒绝。最后一次打电话时,她把电话放在桌子上,没有力气把它举到挂钩上。她放下电话后,疯狂的生活便成了她一天的一部分。我听着她断断续续的话语,因为她无法把两句话连在一起。晚饭是一塌糊涂的粗煮米饭和硬得吃不下的鸡肉。一看到爸爸下班回家,亲爱的就出现在门口,瘫倒在爸爸的怀里,脸色苍白,神情沮丧。她再也装不下去了。当爸爸把她领到沙发前时,她长久以来的悲伤终于爆发了。她弯着背, [第 133 页完] 棕色的肩膀在父亲的臂弯下弯曲着。她似乎根本不是我的母亲,而是一个被悲伤缠绕的陌生人。在我所有的日子里,我从未经历过亲爱的妈妈这样被照顾。她是我们寻求的精神支柱,是我们每次搬家失去好朋友时的粘合剂。我们过去熟悉的世界已经消失,我们必须学习新的世界。她渴望我们了解新家的环境,无论是在基地内还是基地外,军旅生活还是平民生活。是她为我们指明了一条无路可走的路,是她让我们明白了自己的身份,一个黑人军人家庭在这里扎下了根,无论何时何地,我们都要坚持自己的梦想。通过...
本文章由计算机程序翻译,如有差异,请以英文原文为准。
Home Going
In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

  • Home Going
  • Carla Du Pree (bio)

We spoke of the many ways M'dear came to us that night, her hair wrapped in a towel piled high on her head, fresh from her bath. She came quietly, stealing the night from us the way a cat slipped into a room to take a child's breath. She lit the way with her footfalls, turning on lights as she headed our way. I awakened—not by the light but by the rustling of her nightgown near my face, the soft scent of musk surrounding her. Eugenia said it was M'dear peering into her dream, her face tight with worry that pulled her voice through like a thread.

M'dear didn't wish to startle us from sleep so she said softly, "Wake up, Eudora, Eugenia, Pint. Wake up. Pack what you can, a week's worth of clothes. My sister's sick, and I need to see about her."

It meant a journey home for M'dear, one rife with a dangling Southern past she rarely embraced but nudged away each time it came too close to touching down on her present life. A dirt floor and a desire never to return to it. A notion to say "down south" rather than Alabama, admitting it meant giving way to hardship and pain.

M'dear came to us with heartbreak in her throat, her words heavy and thick, falling off her tongue—trying without success to ease the urgency that held her knotted hands in place. Sorrow roped around each word she offered. "Place them here," she pointed as we gathered underwear and placed them in the open suitcase. "Don't forget your socks."

She came resigned.

The first hint Aunt Myrna turned ill M'dear denied, brushed it off like lint from someone's shoulder. "She's not feeling herself," she said out loud after one disturbing phone call from home. "But Mama says she'll pull through just fine."

The second time Aunt Myrna wouldn't speak on the phone. The only way to know she was on the other end was the rustling of sheets and the muffled moans that pricked the silence between M'dear asking, "You there, Myrna? Hello, are you there?"

M'dear often said when people stare at death's door, they choose their own time to say goodbye to loved ones. One by one they give up speaking to them, purposely shutting that fateful door for good. I imagined my auntie's door closing on M'dear's face, and my mother's palm upright, braced to refuse it.

On that last call she placed the telephone on the table, unable to usher the strength to lift it to its hook. She set it down, and a bit of craziness came to be a part of her day. I listened to the fraying ends of her sentences as she couldn't string two together. Dinner was a mess of rudely boiled rice and chicken too tough to eat.

At the very sight of Daddy arriving home from work, M'dear appeared in the doorway, and collapsed in his arms, her face drawn and stricken. She couldn't pretend anymore. When he led her towards the couch, her long-held grief gave way. With her back bent, [End Page 133] her brown shoulders curved beneath my father's arms. She seemed not my mother at all, but a stranger in a body wracked with grief.

In all my days I had not experienced M'dear tended to in that way. She was who we sought to buoy our spirits, the glue that held us when we lost best friends each time we moved. The world we used to know spilled away into one we would have to learn. She was the one eager for us to understand the landscape of a new home, on or off base, a military life versus a civilian one. She was the one who mapped a way out of no way, who held our feet to the fire of who we were, a Negro military family planting roots, building dreams when and where we could, holding our own. Through...

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