Do Unto Others by Kristin Hunter Lattany

Author:Kristin Hunter Lattany
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780345443298
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2000-10-25T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY

AFTER MY LONG, hard day, I know I won’t be up to cooking, so I do something that’s against all my usual rules. I buy a large bucket of fried chicken and take it home.

This time, the living room looks like a disaster area, with newspapers and magazines strewn everywhere. The kitchen is worse.

Ifa and Lucius are sitting at the table talking intensely, with cold cups of coffee between them. It looks like they have been sitting there since breakfast. The sink is piled up high with dirty dishes, and coffee grounds, bread crumbs, and eggshells are everywhere.

Lucius gives me that big warm smile of his that always makes everything all right. “Ifa and I have been talking about life in her village,” he says, “and the political situation in her country.”

“Yes, it ees terrible. I have been telling Dod. Everything ees corrupt. Everything.” She jabs her long, maroon-tipped finger at me as she makes her points. “You can buy a judge, a governor, anyone you want. The government ees in a terrible mess.”

“So is this kitchen,” I can’t help saying.

“Oh, Mum, I am sorry,” she says, “but our discussion got to be so interesting, I forgot about the dirty dishes. Dod is really a very interesting man. In Olori he would be a great chief, with many houses.”

“And many wives and children in them, I suppose.”

“Yes,” she says, and stares at me defiantly. She is wearing a length of blue cloth wrapped around her at armpit level, and nothing else. Her boobs are covered—barely—but her skinny shoulders are bare.

I plop the bucket of chicken and the triple side order of coleslaw on the table and pass out plates, banging one so hard I break it.

“Well, this is dinner,” I state. “If you look in the refrigerator behind you, Ifa, you’ll find some Pepsi.”

She does not move. “I prefer juice or water,” she informs me.

“Fine. But there are two other people here who want Pepsi.”

“Colas are bad for the teeth and the stomach, Mum. Water is better.”

“Thank you for the information,” I say, and get up and get the bottle of Pepsi myself. “I thought you were going to do some more housecleaning today.”

“I was, but Dod and I got to talking, and—eek! What kind of chicken ees this?” She is holding one of the Colonel’s Original Recipe thighs aloft and staring at in horror.

As she raises the chicken, I catch a whiff of odor from her armpits that almost knocks me out. My gentle hint about using deodorant has done no good, then. I will have to be rougher this time.

“Colonel Stewart’s Fried Chicken,” I say. “Very famous. Very popular here. No one has been known to die from it. Try some.”

“This piece ees so beeg! Eet looks like some animal!” she exclaims. She takes a cautious nibble, and then a bigger bite. Three more bites, and she is down to the bone, which she also waves, almost asphyxiating me. “You see thees bone? It ees black. That means this chicken has been frozen and thawed and frozen again.

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