Free Raney by Clyde Edgerton Page B

accents. They were probably people who've come down to work at the new G.E. plant outside White Level.
    Charles said he liked it — that it was "formal." I didn't see anything formal about it. It was confusing to me.
     
     
    Aunt Naomi and Aunt Flossie were at Mama's for Sunday dinner, along with the rest of us. Everybody seemed happy to see Millie and she seemed likewise. I was a little tense. For one thing I was worried that the Sneeds business would come up, but I figured it wouldn't — not at Sunday dinner.
    We got seated, Mama asked Charles to say the blessing; he did; and we started helping ourselves.
    I passed the okra to Aunt Naomi. She helped her plate and says, "You want some okra, son?" and passed the bowl to Charles. "We won't get much more this year."
    "No, thanks," said Charles.
    "No? You don't like okra?"
    "Nope."
    "Well, I declare. That's surprising. Have you ever had it fried before?"
    "I can't remember. I don't think so. I've had it boiled."
    "You hadn't ever fried any okra for this boy?" Mama says to Millie.
    "We've never been much on okra, somehow," says Millie.
    "Well, you ain't had nothing until you've had some good fried okra," says Aunt Naomi, and she drops a piece onto Charles's plate.
    "I really don't care for any."
    "I remember when I was a little girl no older than Mary Faye there," says Aunt Naomi. "I couldn't stand boiled okra because it was so slimy. For some reason, that's the only way my mama ever fixed it. So I know what you mean. Then when I was, oh, about a teenager, I got aholt of some good fried okra. Mercy me — better than pop corn, with just a tiny hint of fried oyster flavor. Do you like fried oysters?"
    "Sure do," said Charles. He was staring at the piece of fried okra on his plate.
    "Pop corn?"
    "Sure do."
    "Well, then, you'll love fried okra. Go ahead, try it."
    "I really don't care for any."
    "Aw, go ahead. You'll love it; I guarantee. Then when you go home your mama can fix it for you, can't you, Millie?"
    "Sure."
    Charles ate the piece of okra. It was good okra.
    "Now, ain't that good?" says Aunt Naomi.
    "It was pretty good," says Charles.
    Aunt Naomi gets the bowl and hands it to Charles. "Well, here, get you out some."
    "No thanks," said Charles. "I'm just fine. I really don't care for any."
    "Well, I declare," says Aunt Naomi. "I'm surprised. I thought for sure you'd love it."
    Charles put the bowl back and Daddy asked him if he saw the Braves game Saturday and they started talking while Aunt Naomi says, "I don't know what I'd do without my fried okra. That and turnip salet. Why I could make a meal off turnip salet and cornbread, two meals a day for a month. There just ain't nothing any better. Nothing. Doris, your favorite was always cabbage, won't it?"
    "I always liked turnip salet too."
    "I hate it," said Mary Faye.
    "You hate everything," said Norris.
    "I do not."
    "Do too."
    "Do not."
    "Hush," says Mama.
    "Ya'll went to the Episcopal church in White Level?" says Aunt Naomi. She was looking at Millie.
    "Sure did. It was really nice."
    Nobody said anything.
    "Don't they have a priest like the Catholics?" said Mama.
    "Yes, they do," said Millie. "I think their duties might be a bit different, though."
    "Don't they make them preach in a certain town where they assign them — like in the army?" says Aunt Naomi.
    "I don't think they do."
    "They don't," says Charles.
    "I've made many a meal on turnip salet and cornbread," says Uncle Nate. He had his hair slicked straight back, like always, and was wearing a white starched shirt with the collar open. "And Aunt Annie's nigger, Monkey — remember how he used to all the time talk about drinking turnip green pot liquor?"
    That got Charles's and Millie's attention. I was afraid Charles was going to go into his speech about saying "nigger" but he didn't, thank goodness. And Millie didn't, thank goodness. (Charles is sitting there with a big hunk of cream potatoes on his plate, no gravy, two pieces of chicken, a piece of roast