Toni Morrison - Paradise

The fire, smelling wonderfully, attracted the mother cat. She curled up behind the stove, though her eyes remained alert to predators-human or otherwise.

"Let me make some coffee," Anna said, eyeing the clouds above Holy Redeemer. "This might get serious."

Ace Flood's faith had been the mountain-moving kind, so he built his store to last. Sandstone. Sturdier than some churches. Four rooms for his family above; below, a spacious storeroom, a tiny bedroom, and a fifteen-foot-high selling area crammed with shelves, bins, cases and drawers. The windows were regular house type-he didn't want or need display; no big, wasteful "looking-in" plate glass for him. Let folks come inside to see what he had. He didn't have many things but he had a lot of what he stocked. Before he died, he saw his store change from a necessary service in Ruby to a business patronized by the loyal for certain items, though they balked at his prices and more and more drove their trucks to Demby for cheaper (and better) supplies. Anna changed all that. What Ace's Grocery now lacked in size of inventory it gained in variety and style. She offered free coffee on cold days, iced tea when it was hot. She put out two chairs and a small table for the elderly and those who drove in from farms and wanted to rest awhile. And since adults, nowadays, never frequented the Oven next to her store-except for special events-she catered to the appetites of the young who liked to gather there. She sold her own pies, made her own candy along with the lots she picked up in Demby. She kept three kinds of soda pop instead of one. Sometimes she sold the blackas-eight-rock peppers the Convent grew. She kept hog's head cheese in the cooler, as her father had, along with local butter and salted pork. But canned goods, dried beans, coffee, sugar, syrup, baking soda, flour, salt, catsup, paper products-all the items nobody could or wanted to make at home-took up the space Ace Flood once used for cloth, work shoes, light tools, kerosene. Now Sargeant's Feed and Seed sold the shoes, the tools, the kerosene, and Harper's drugstore sold the needles, thread, counter medicine, prescriptions, sanitary napkins, stationery and tobacco. Except for Blue Boy. Steward had relied on Ace for that and wasn't about to change his habits.

In Anna's hands, Ace's Grocery blossomed through variety, comfort and flexibility. Because she let Menus cut hair in the back on Saturdays, incidental purchases rose. Because she had a nice toilet downstairs, casual users felt obliged to become customers before they left. Farming women came in for peppermint after church; the men for sacks of raisins. Invariably they picked up a little something more from the shelves.

The contentment she drew from Richard's fire made her smile. But she couldn't be a minister's wife. Never. Could she? Well, he had not asked her to be one-so enjoy the stove heat, the nape of his neck and the invisible presence of kittens.

After a while, a station wagon drove up and parked so close to the store, both Misner and Anna could see the fever in the baby's blue eyes. The mother held the child over her shoulder and stroked its yellow hair. The driver, a city-dressed man in his forties, got out and pushed open Anna's door.

"How you all doing?" He smiled.

"Fine, and you?"

"Look like I'm lost. Been trying to find eighteen west for more'n an hour." He looked at Misner and grinned an apology for having violated the male rule of never asking for directions. "Wife made me stop. Said she's had it."

"It's a ways back the way you come from," said Misner, looking at the Arkansas plates, "but I can tell you how to find it."

"'Preciate it. 'Preciate it," said the man. "Don't expect there's a doctor around here, is there?"

"Not around these parts. You have to get to Demby for that."

"What's wrong with the baby?" Anna asked.

"Sort of pukey. Hot too. We're fairly well supplied, but who'd pack aspirin or cough medicine on a little old trip like this? Can't think of every damn thing, can you? Jesus."

"Your baby coughing? I don't believe you need cough medicine." Anna squinted through the window. "Ask your wife to come in out the cold."

"Drugstore'll have aspirin," said Misner.

"I didn't see no drugstore. Where 'bouts is it?"

"You passed it, but it doesn't look like a drugstore-looks like a regular house."

"How am I going to find it then? Houses round here don't seem to have numbers."

"Tell me what all you want and I'll get it for you. Then tell your wife to bring that baby inside." Misner reached for his coat. "Just some aspirin and some cough medicine. 'Preciate it. I'll get my wife."

The blast from the open door rattled the coffee cups. The man got back in the station wagon; Misner took off in his ratty Ford. Anna thought about making some cinnamon toast. The pumpkin bread would be stale now. Be nice if she had an overripe banana-the baby looked constipated. Mush it up with a little apple butter. The man came back shaking his head. "I'll just keep the motor running. She says she'll stay put."

Anna nodded. "You got far to go?"

"Lubbock. Say, is that coffee hot?"

"Uh huh. How you like it?"

"Black and sweet."

He'd taken two sips when the station wagon horn sounded. "Shit. Excuse me," he said. When he came back he bought licorice, peanut butter, crackers and three Royal Crowns and carried them out to his wife. Then he returned to finish his coffee, sipping it in silence while Anna poked the fire.

"You better gas up when you get on eighteen. Blizzard's coming."

He laughed. "Blizzard? In Lubbock, Texas?"

"You ain't in Texas yet," said Anna. She looked toward the window and saw two figures approach, then Misner shouldered open the door, with Steward close on his heels.

"Here you go," said Misner, handing over the bottles. The man took them and rushed out to the station wagon. Misner followed to give him directions.

"Who all is that?" asked Steward.

"Just some lost folks." Anna handed him a thirty-two-ounce tin of Blue Boy.

"Lost folks or lost whites?"

"Oh, Steward, please."

"Big difference, Anna girl. Big. Right, Reverend?" Misner was just stepping back in.

"They get lost like everybody else," said Anna.

"Born lost. Take over the world and still lost. Right, Reverend?"

"You just contradicted yourself." Anna laughed.

"God has one people, Steward. You know that." Misner rubbed his hands, then blew on them.

"Reverend," said Steward, "I've heard you say things out of ignorance, but this is the first time I heard you say something based on ignorance."

Misner smiled and was about to answer when the lost man entered again to pay Misner for the medicine.

"Blizzard's heading in." Steward looked at the man's light clothing and thin shoes. "You might want to ride it out somewhere. Gas station on eighteen. Wouldn't go no further than that if I was you."

"I'll beat it." The man closed his wallet. "I'll gas up on eighteen, but we crossing that state line today. Thank you. You all been a big help. 'Preciate it."

"They never listen," said Steward as the station wagon drove away. He himself, having been around in 1958 when whole herds froze, had been pumping water, nailing down, forking alfalfa and storing up since Wednesday. He was in town for tobacco and syrup and to pick up Dovey.

"Say, Steward," Misner said. "You seen Roger's granddaughter, Billie Delia?"

"What should I see her for?"

"Anna says nobody has. Of course, we haven't asked her mother." Steward, picking up on the "we," put a crisp five-dollar bill on the counter. "You won't get nothing there," he said, thinking, No major loss if she did run off. Serve Pat right, he thought. She noses about in everybody's business but clams up if you get near hers. "That reminds me, Deek told me he saw Sweetie this morning-just walking on down the road. No overcoat. Nothing."