My great great great great grandmother, Julia Ward Howe, wrote the Battle Hymn of the Republic and recently came to stay with me in my Harlem apartment. The first thing we did was get her out of her black sack dress and into a bright green and orange velour warm up suit that we bought at Mony and a pair of leopard print Puma's we picked up at the Marshall' s on 125th and Lenox.
The first thing I should mention is that she doesn't smell. I was worried that someone who died in October of 1910 might reek like a rotten corpse, but she is neither decomposed nor stanky. She is, however, relatively intolerant. Despite having no money and no prospect of a job, she feels free to criticize me for my housekeeping, my smoking habit and for my foul mouth. I have had to resort to smoking joints out the bathroom window, and it is driving me crazy! The place is small, a 400 square foot studio and the venerable old relative is camped out on the sofa. I have had to dispatch my husband and my dog to the studio in Redhook, and while the husband visits regularly, I haven't seen my dog in a couple of days.
You might be wondering, as I am, why my great times four grandmother decided to show up at my place, but so far no one knows. I told her that in books usually the dead spook their descendants to provide some service. She may need to perform some act of kindness that will help me in this life and get her into heaven. I asked her about heaven. She seems to not remember being dead which is a real drag since I wanted to ask some questions about the existence of God and the experience of life everlasting.
Grandma Julia has been here three days and we have no idea how long her visit will last, but yesterday, the funniest thing happened and I had to write and tell you. As you well know yesterday was Tuesday, and as you may not know, I work weekdays. I had taken Monday off, but couldn't afford to take off more time since I am a temp and have no vacation and no savings. My husband also had to work so we had to leave the venerable old relative alone.
My next door neighbor, Tula, is in her mid sixties, the same age as my grandmother appears to be and so I asked Tula to watch her. When I got home from work, Tula met me in the hallway, with the straightest face I have ever seen her wear. She had news, she told me, about Julia. It seems that the two old ladies had a really nice time together and spent the morning chatting over tea and toast. They talked about art and books and their children and grandchildren. Around lunchtime, Tula said, Julia became a little distracted and brooding.
After a few silent minutes, Julia had turned to Tula teary eyed and serious. "Thank you," she said, "thank you so much. I see how kind you are to me and my family, and I have to tell you, I am not sure, that had history ended up differently, that we would have been so generous."
"What do you mean?" Tula had asked her confused.
"Well," Julia had responded, "I mean if white people had won the war, I don't know that we would be as kind as your people have been and of course had whites been slaves, I am sure we would not have been so forgiving!"
Tula and I have decided not to tell Julia Ward Howe the truth, that the slaves did not rise up and take over America. We are still trying to figure out what to do with the old girl, but for now, we're just going to string her along and keep a little diary of what happens.
We'll keep you posted!
(QD writes: Happy take over the country and act like you've discovered it day!)