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she so plump and ruddy and crazy she feel like my sister.
    She say, Well take a good look. Even if I is just a bag of bones now. She have the nerve to put one hand on her naked hip and bat her eyes at me. Then she suck her teef and roll her eyes at the ceiling while I wash her.
    I wash her body, it feel like I’m praying. My hands tremble and my breath short.
    She say, You ever have anv kids?
    I say, Yes ma’am.
    She say, How many and don’t you yes ma’am me, I ain’t that old.
    I say, two.
    She ast me Where they is?
    I say, I don’t know.
    She look at me funny.
    My kids with they grandma, she say. She could stand the kids, I had to go.
    You miss ’em? I ast.
    Naw, she say. I don’t miss nothing.

DEAR GOD,
    I ast Shug Avery what she want for breakfast. She say, What yall got? I say ham, grits, eggs, biscuits, coffee, sweet milk or butter milk, flapjacks. Jelly and jam.
    She say, Is that all? What about orange juice, grapefruit, strawberries and cream. Tea. Then she laugh.
    I don’t want none of your damn food, she say. Just gimme a cup of coffee and hand me my cigarettes.
    I don’t argue. I git the coffee and light her cigarette. She wearing a long white gown and her thin black hand stretching out of it to hold the white cigarette looks just right. Something bout it, maybe the little tender veins I see and the big ones I try not to, make me scared. I feel like something pushing me forward. If I don’t watch out I’ll have hold of her hand, tasting her fingers in my mouth.
    Can I sit in here and eat with you? I ast.
    She shrug. She busy looking at a magazine. White women in it laughing, holding they beads out on one finger, dancing on top of motocars. Jumping into fountains. She flip the pages. Look dissatisfied. Remind me of a child trying to git something out a toy it can’t work yet.
    She drink her coffee, puff on her cigarette. I bite into a big juicy piece of home cured ham. You can smell this ham for a mile when you cooking it, it perfume up her little room with no trouble at all.
    I lavish butter on a hot biscuit, sort of wave it about. I sop up ham gravey and splosh my eggs in with my grits.
    She blow more and more smoke. Look down in her coffee like maybe its something solid at the bottom.
    Finally she say, Celie, I believe I could drink a glass of water. And this here by the bed ain’t fresh.
    She hold out her glass.
    I put my plate down on the card table by the bed. I go dip her up some water. I come back, pick up my plate. Look like a little mouse been nibbling the biscuit, a rat run off with the ham.
    She act like nothing happen. Begin to complain bout being tired. Doze on off to sleep.
    Mr. _____ ast me how I git her to eat.
    I say, Nobody living can stand to smell home cured ham without tasting it. If they dead they got a chance. Maybe.
    Mr. _____ laugh.
    I notice something crazy in his eyes.
    I been scared, he say. Scared. And he cover up his eyes with his hands.

DEAR GOD,
    Shug Avery sit up in bed a little today. I wash and comb out her hair. She got the nottiest, shortest, kinkiest hair I ever saw, and I loves every strand of it. The hair that come out in my comb I kept. Maybe one day I’ll get a net, make me a rat to pomp up my own hair.
    I work on her like she a doll or like she Olivia—or like she mama. I comb and pat, comb and pat. First she say, hurry up and git finish. Then she melt down a little and lean back gainst my knees. That feel just right, she say. That feel like mama used to do. Or maybe not mama. Maybe grandma. She reach for another cigarette. Start hum a little tune.
    What that song? I ast. Sound low down dirty to me. Like what the preacher tell you its sin to hear. Not to mention sing.
    She hum a little more. Something come to me, she say. Something I made up. Something you help scratch out my head.

DEAR GOD,
    Mr. _____ daddy show up this evening. He a little short shrunk up man with a bald head and gold spectacles. He clear his throat a lot, like everything he say need