I once worked at a tourist information center. The job was easy; I was basically a bathroom attendant. The job did consist of other things; however, I must have pointed about 200 people a day to the nearest bathroom. In my downtime at work I would read books or serf the internet. During my time at the information center I was fortunate enough to meet one of the kindest souls I have yet to encounter. Her name was Mrs. Caruth she was a sweet seventy-two year old black woman who had grown up in the French Quarter of New Orleans. She was short and stocky a tight packaging for someone so sweet. She would come into the information center daily. We called her a volunteer but she wasn’t really. Largely she was just looking for somewhere and someone to share her day with. I came to learn that she was estranged from her family. What little family she did have left including sons and daughters were always after what little money she possessed. She would often rant about the nature of people and turn deep in voice and solemn in demeanor. These rants would always end positive. She seemed to always end with a mention of how God’s will was unexplainable and just.
“He’s gonna take care of me”, or “He gonna take care of dem” would usually be the wrapping phrase. My co-workers and I grew to love these moments, not only were they theatrical like a mini monologue, but they always told us a little bit more about our friend Mrs. Caruth. I can’t remember the last time I witnessed a priest awaken a group spiritually like she could. She could do it every God damn day. Some co-workers couldn’t tolerate the spirituality of these monologues, but I relished in it. I don’t hear many people talk with such fervor as Mrs. Caruth did.
She was not a lady of means, yet she would always bring me snacks, sandwiches, beignets from Café du Monde, or a treat of her own making. She made really good peanut butter cookie bars. I also began to bring her treats or buying her lunch from time to time. Usually I had to trick her into eating with me if I purchased the food by saying I’m full you want some of this. She was a proud woman, but not a wasteful one. I sometimes brought in leftovers from home. She didn’t have any problem with these since it was usually red beans and rice or jambalaya. These were certainly two meals she enjoyed the most and never went too long without eating. She would say, “You cook good red beans.”
“My mama cooks good red beans.” I’d tell her.
“Oh, your mama made dat. I wanna meet ya mama. When you bringing her by.” She would say this in her animated way changing her voice to falsetto or doing her best imitation of a man, which sounded like Louis Armstrong with emphysema.
“I’m telling you boy I betta meet yo mama soon.”
“I’ll ask her to stop by the next time she’s in town.” I’d tell her laughing at her animated speech.
“Till den, I’m ya mama suga” now back in falsetto.
“Yes, mam.” I’d say still trying not to laugh, only more successful this time.
Mrs. Caruth was also an amazing dancer. She would come in and dance to the jazz playing through the CD player. I loved to watch her dance not only because it was amusing to myself but also because she would start up ever time someone new walked into the information center. I watch their reaction. Sometimes people would laugh other times people would join her asking what do you call that dance. She would never dance to any set structure just free step all day long. She was not a picture of grace , but her steps were always spontaneous and tenacious.
“I was dancing before I could crawl boy,” was something she would say often.
“Is that the truth Caruth,” I would say back.
“You know I don’t tell no lies,” she would affirm.
One day, word came down from the administration that I was no longer allowed to bring food or share lunch with Mrs. Caruth. They acted like that was the only reason she came around. I was angry at this because all of a sudden it became a problem after six months of forming a daily report with my friend Mrs. Caruth. She didn’t come for handouts, which was the reason that the administrators gave me for stopping the exchange of food and treats. She came past every day because she loved talking to people like I did. She was just better at it. When there was no one else around we would talk to each other to help pass the day. I had never had a friend that was so many generations ahead of me.
Mrs. Caruth was a smart lady she knew there was something up with the bosses. She still came in from time to time, but only for a few hours and there was no more treats or candy. It eventually got to a point where she no longer came at all. She told me once that she wanted to go to California to see her daddy’s grave. When she didn’t return for such a long time I hoped that she was making her trip out west. She had also mentioned how sweet her daughter who lived in Texas was. She told me she was the only one of her six children that didn’t try to take her money. I hoped that perhaps she had come to live with her daughter in Texas visiting her grandbabies she always mentioned with a smile.
I learned recently of Mrs. Caruth’s passing. I felt really sad at first then relieved. I head that she did in a hospice in the city. I felt sad again knowing that she died alone. With six kids and nieces and nephews all over the city I felt horrible that no one could take her in or visit her before she passed. I wish I had known she was doing badly. I would have liked very much to see her one last time. If not for anything else to let her know that someone was thinking of her.
I said prayers for my old friend. I prayed that no woman as nice as her ever dies alone as she did. I prayed that God send the world another soul as sweet as hers. I also made my mothers red beans and some rice crispy treats to have a memorial meal for my gentle companion. Her life was hard and difficult. A story that perhaps only Tony Morrison could tell in all its highs and lows, if written it might be called the sweetest soul. I’ll never forget Mrs. Caruth and all she did to make my day just a little bit better. I will always picture her dancing and smiling or joking with someone, a sight I once found great amusement in. Now it is nothing but a bittersweet memory, one, which I hope to tell my children about in all its simple details.
No comments:
Post a Comment