Bessie Davis Hudson

          It was 1:00 and Bessie Davis Hudson called the weekly meeting of the Book Woman Club to order.  Today's meeting was at her house and she had chased all of the dust bunnies out of the family room, lit a fire in the fireplace, (it was still cold in Syracuse, New York despite being the last day of April), and had a full pot of coffee brewing in the kitchen ready to be served at the end of the meeting.  Karen had brought banana pudding, hot out the oven, for the ladies to snack on.  Bessie sighed. The smell was wafting through the house and her mouth started watering.   How was she ever going to loose her belly fat  if Karen kept bringing these high calorie desserts to the meetings?  Her doctor reminded her over and over again that if she lost 30 pounds and exercised, her blood pressure could be better managed!  Well, Bessie walked pounds off every morning, and then ate them back on every Saturday afternoon at the Book Woman Club meetings!  Karen was writing a cook book of old family recipes and family tales, and she was testing out each recipe on the club members.  "We're her fat little guinea pigs", thought Bessie, "...and her experiments are going to kill us all!"  Bessie had to admonish herself for blaming Karen.  She didn't have to eat what Karen brought!  Her fat little elbow did not have to bend that fork up to her mouth!  "Today I will practice self-control", Bessie vowed to herself.  As the hostess of today's meeting, she was responsible for getting the discussion going.  The women were reading Harlem Renaissance poems, Bessie's favorite genre and time period!  They were reading from a collection called, I am the Darker Brother.  "Let's start with Conrad River's poem, "The Still Voice of Harlem".  Bessie rocked her bottom back and forth, getting centered in her winged back comfy chair.  She started reading the poem.  "Come to me broken dreams and all, bring me the glory of fruitless souls.  I will find a place for them in my garden."  Oh, how she loved this poem; this image of sanctuary!  River's poem always took her back to her own southern roots in Darlington, South Carolina.  As she finished her recitation of  River's "Still Voice of Harlem",  Bessie's thoughts drifted away from the discussion that had begun about the poem.  She contemplated the lines, "Weep not for the fertile soil of Alabama.  Or your father's eyes, your mother's body twisted by the washing board."
          Born in 1923, Bessie was one of the oldest members of the Book Woman Club, and although Carol Jean claimed the honor, it had been Bessie's idea to  start the club.  Bessie had moved from South Carolina to Syracuse, New York after her husband's passing.  She was so lonely, so all alone on the isolated farm Bessie and her husband Albert had worked together throughout their 69 year marriage.  Her twelve children and numerous grand and great grands were all grown.  They all had their busy "professional" lives living in big northern cities.  None of them wanted to live on the family land; as her daughter Victoria put it, "work in a field like a slave".
          Bessie sighed out loud, breaking her thoughts and tuning into the now lively discussion of Conrad's poem.  She rolled her eyes, catching some of Khadi-jah's political rhetoric about the rising costs of rent in Harlem since Bill Clinton moved in and took over "our community!"  Khadi-jah was going on and on about how black people should be writing their state legislatures and Congress persons, demanding that Harlem be designated as a no-fly zone and sanctuary.  Khadi-jah was now standing up, her right arm raised, her hand in a fist.  "We demand a separate nation for African-Americans, where they can be protected them from the systematic genocide of our African-American peoples, and, all white people should be relegated to the territories outside of it's borders!"   "Humph!  These young folks", Bessie thought and again rolled her eyes.  Khadi-jah was always espousing for an independent "African-American" nation, demanding that the "10 acres and a mule" promise after the Civil War, be enforced.  Bessie and Albert had marched with King, had risked their lives in the name of the ending of segregation.  She wasn't about to trade all their hard work, surviving threats against their lives and a cross burning in front of their farm house,  for a return of Jim Crow (even under African-American rule) and ten acres and a mule!  
          Besides, Bessie had sold her ten acres...and her mule.   She had outlived all of her friends except one, Carol Jean, whom she had know since she was eight, working in the berry fields.  With Albert gone, she needed someone to talk to; some kind of purpose for carrying one.  So when Carol Jean suggested that she move up north to Syracuse, and buy the small house down the street from her, Bessie remembered something that her father used to say to her..."Think long and think wrong!"  At 84, Bessie packed up her farm house, leased out her fields and equipment, sold her cows, pigs chickens and her old mule named "Knock Knees", and moved to Syracuse.  She used Albert's and her savings to buy this two bedroom house, a cottage - really, and started a new life! 
          "Sit your revolutionary black bottom back down in that chair!"  Uh-oh!  Glory 'Amen" Johnson was standing up, yelling, her had on her hip letting her back-bone slip!  She was rolling her head so hard, it looked like it would break loose from her head and spin into the air!  "This is not the place for your Satan worshiping, anti-American talk!  We're trying to review a poem, not your hell-inspired communist manifesto!" 
           Glory "Amen" Johnson and Khadi-jah had been at war with each other ever-since Khadi-jah had joined the Book Woman Club a year ago!  They disagreed on everything; which books to read, whose house to meet at, who should bring dessert and constantly threw bombs at each others political ideologies!  Glory "Amen" Johnson was a hard core born again Christian and conservative Republican.  Khadi-jah was a Muslim and was a member of the African-American Peoples Revolutionary Communist Party.  The two of were as compatible as Donald Trump and his bad hair piece!
            "O.K., now!  That's enough!"  Bessie sat up in her comfy chair and stomped her foot.  "Both of you sit down!"  Khadi-jah sat down, abruptly, and loudly grunted.  She knew better than to challenge Bessie and she kept her mouth shut.  Bessie closed her book and said, "That's enough reviewing today.  Karen, why don't you go in the kitchen and dish up some of that banana pudding of yours?  I put it in the oven, to keep it warm.  I laid out dessert plates and forks.  Khadi-jah, why don't you go on out there and help her?  You know where the napkins and cups are.  There's a big pot of coffee already made.  Make sure you bring sugar.  There's cream in the refrigerator."  Khadi-jah looked like she wanted to raise her fist and start another demonstration, but followed Karen into the kitchen, not wanting to challenge the "don't you mess with me child" look that Bessie gave her!  Glory "Amen" Johnson sat down and smoothed the angry wrinkles gathering on her "Sunday go to meeting" dress.  Her mouth was all twisted, words beating at the back of her teeth, but she too knew that it wasn't wise to challenge Bessie, especially in her own house!
           "Next week we'll continue our review of Harlem Renissance poems.  We'll be discussing Langston Hughes "Harlem Nights".  Rose-Ann, we haven't met at your house yet.  Is your house available next week?"  "Oh, no, Miss Bessie!"  Rose-Ann clutched the color of her shirt nervously.  "That's not at all possible at this time! My house is still under renovations!  Maybe in the fall...".  Karen entered with the first tray of hot banana pudding, followed by Khadi-jah, who was carefully balancing a tray of hot coffee filled cups and saucers.  "I can host next weeks' meeting!", Karen exclaimed as she began to pass out plates.  "I have a recipe for pineapple upside down cake I need to try out!"  Against her will, Bessie's hand reached out for a plate of banana pudding.  She tried to fight her elbow, but like her hand - it betrayed her, and bent the fork up to her mouth.  O-o-o-o-o-h!  So good!