Stuff and nonsense! Nana barked at her but my poor and overly sensitive Aunt Vi immediately burst into helpless tears and covered her face with her hands. Miss Clara, the unintended victim of Vi's latest mail order cosmetic course - this one in hair coloring - stood at the kitchen sink with a towel wrapped around her head and wailed pitifully.
Good Lord, Clara! Pearl gave a hugely exasperated sigh, Do stop caterwauling! It's not the end of the world!
It's not YOUR hair that's green! Clara protested and launched into a fresh barrage of sobs, And it isn't YOUR turn to sing solo on Sunday!
Oh, for mercy's sake, Nana said, nearly shouting to be heard over the unfeminine racket, This isn't helping a bit! Can we please start figuring out how to fix it!
These four women, all of whom had been friends for most of their lives and seen one another through each and every imaginable trial and trouble, stood in the fading afternoon light in the kitchen and looked at each other uncertainly. These were strong, self reliant, eminently practical women - well, Aunt Vi might've have had more than her share of moments of nervous indecision but on the whole she could be counted upon for a reasonable sort of stability - but none wanted to be the first to admit that green hair was outside their collective experience. These were women who prided themselves upon their independence and common sense, trusting that most if not all problems came with solutions - it was a matter of knowing where to look and what to look for. Defeat in the face of adversity was unthinkable, an unacceptable outcome, a travesty. These were not women who were accustomed to failure on any level - island women were fighters and survivors - they endured hurricanes and bad marriages and blizzards and ungrateful children and epidemics. I knew this because I'd heard the stories for as long as I could remember. They had, however, never been confronted with green hair.
Well, Nana began to muse, bleach got us into this so that's no solution.
Food coloring? Vi suggested timidly.
Dye? Pearl said thoughtfully, What color cancels green?
This was too much for Miss Clara who whirled on poor Vi and tore the towel away, displaying a shock of green ringlets, falling all the way to her shoulders. Her eyes were on fire. Hysterical? she repeated shrillly, HYSTERICAL? I look like an asparagus! All I need is salad dressing, you dimwitted old hag and YOU did it! She snatched up Nana's cast iron skillet and raised it over her head, advancing on Vi with deadly aim. With a start I realized the meaning of the phrase "Murder in her eye".
Oh, for heavens sake, my grandmother exclaimed with a mild curse, Clara, put that down this instant! You know I haven't seasoned it yet!
From the pantry door I watched as the kitchen fell suddenly silent and Miss Clara, pausing in mid swing, turned to look wild eyed at Nana. What? she asked a startled voice.
I said I haven't seasoned ..... my grandmother began and in that one moment, all four women realized the utter absurdity of the scene. Miss Clara replaced the skillet, Aunt Pearl began to laugh and slipped one arm around Aunt Vi. My generally humorless and strait laced grandmother dissolved, laughing so hard she was forced to lean on the counter to remain upright. I watched all this from the narrow doorway of the pantry and imagined I would never understand grown ups.
Red and green make brown, I said at last and all four women looked at me.
In my coloring books, I added, red and green make brown.
And indeed they did. There was a long and animated discussion before they settled on ketchup - it was the proper color and Nana said tomatoes were acid-y. It might counteract the bleach, she declared, And if it doesn't, Clara, you can always be a side dish. This struck them as hilariously funny and they started laughing all over again.
The pantry offered a full bottle of ketchup and I watched in amazement as they bent Miss Clara over the sink and Aunt Vi lathered in the entire family sized bottle while Nana and Pearl chattered cheerfully. There was a brief debate about how long to "leave it in" but Vi logically said that half an hour should do as it was the same amount of time she'd left in the bleach and coloring rinse. Clara carefully wound a fresh towel around her sopping head and all four women retired to the sun porch for tea.
A half hour later, she was once again bent over the kitchen sink while Vi, eyes squeezed shut and mouth moving in silent prayer, rinsed for all she was worth and Nana and Pearl hovered anxiously. Remarkably enough, it worked - well, after a fashion - towel dried and combed out, Miss Clara's hair had turned a new and mostly acceptable shade of brown. Studying the result in the dining room mirror for several long minutes, Clara finally pronounced that it would do.
Nothing anyone would remark upon, Aunt Pearl agreed after a critical survey.
With a hat, no one would notice a thing, Nana said firmly.
Never again, Clara, Aunt Vi fervently swore, I promise! And she grinned a little sheepishly and crossed her heart.
Clara, dear, Aunt Vi's voice was shaky but determined, Clara, please, dear, try not to become hysterical.
This was too much for Miss Clara who whirled on poor Vi and tore the towel away, displaying a shock of green ringlets, falling all the way to her shoulders. Her eyes were on fire. Hysterical? she repeated shrillly, HYSTERICAL? I look like an asparagus! All I need is salad dressing, you dimwitted old hag and YOU did it! She snatched up Nana's cast iron skillet and raised it over her head, advancing on Vi with deadly aim. With a start I realized the meaning of the phrase "Murder in her eye".
Oh, for heavens sake, my grandmother exclaimed with a mild curse, Clara, put that down this instant! You know I haven't seasoned it yet!
From the pantry door I watched as the kitchen fell suddenly silent and Miss Clara, pausing in mid swing, turned to look wild eyed at Nana. What? she asked a startled voice.
I said I haven't seasoned ..... my grandmother began and in that one moment, all four women realized the utter absurdity of the scene. Miss Clara replaced the skillet, Aunt Pearl began to laugh and slipped one arm around Aunt Vi. My generally humorless and strait laced grandmother dissolved, laughing so hard she was forced to lean on the counter to remain upright. I watched all this from the narrow doorway of the pantry and imagined I would never understand grown ups.
Red and green make brown, I said at last and all four women looked at me.
In my coloring books, I added, red and green make brown.
And indeed they did. There was a long and animated discussion before they settled on ketchup - it was the proper color and Nana said tomatoes were acid-y. It might counteract the bleach, she declared, And if it doesn't, Clara, you can always be a side dish. This struck them as hilariously funny and they started laughing all over again.
The pantry offered a full bottle of ketchup and I watched in amazement as they bent Miss Clara over the sink and Aunt Vi lathered in the entire family sized bottle while Nana and Pearl chattered cheerfully. There was a brief debate about how long to "leave it in" but Vi logically said that half an hour should do as it was the same amount of time she'd left in the bleach and coloring rinse. Clara carefully wound a fresh towel around her sopping head and all four women retired to the sun porch for tea.
A half hour later, she was once again bent over the kitchen sink while Vi, eyes squeezed shut and mouth moving in silent prayer, rinsed for all she was worth and Nana and Pearl hovered anxiously. Remarkably enough, it worked - well, after a fashion - towel dried and combed out, Miss Clara's hair had turned a new and mostly acceptable shade of brown. Studying the result in the dining room mirror for several long minutes, Clara finally pronounced that it would do.
Nothing anyone would remark upon, Aunt Pearl agreed after a critical survey.
With a hat, no one would notice a thing, Nana said firmly.
Never again, Clara, Aunt Vi fervently swore, I promise! And she grinned a little sheepishly and crossed her heart.
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