Carla sat along with Mel Washington’s compatriot Betty Askins and two other women in the shack of a round woman named Eunice Prendergrast, originally of Barbados and now something of a force in the Community. The air inside was stale but shaded; the aroma of strong coffee rose off a pot just pulled from the coals outside her door. Carla conducted a semiregular meeting with women in the Uhuru Community to get a sense of the Community’s immediate needs.
Eunice filled and passed clay mugs of coffee. They discussed the condition of a plot of land the women were trying to farm between the Community and the river. The ground wasn’t suitable for the crops they were accustomed to growing—mostly in the Caribbean or in the South—but they were making slow progress.
Eunice said, “Some of the kids are having diarrhea. It’s getting passed around.”
Carla nodded. “We’re working on getting a doctor here, having a children’s clinic sometime very soon. Also, we’ll get the kids vaccinated, and the adults, too—mumps, pertussis, smallpox. A lot of people in the City will be more comfortable with the Community—forgive me for saying this—if they know that you aren’t going to be a breeding ground for diseases; if they know the people here have been inoculated.”
Eunice gave her a sour look, but nodded. “It’s all for the good, I suppose.”
Betty said, “There’s no reason why the people here shouldn’t receive the proper medical care, same as everyone else.”
Carla took a sip of coffee, puckering at its acidity, feeling her face flush even more from its heat; new sweat beads formed at her hairline. “I’ll let you know as soon as we work out the details, but, as I said, very soon. Days. If those kids still have diarrhea, take them to City Hospital. Let me know if you do this, and I’ll arrange for payment or whatever needs to be done.”
Eunice frowned. “We can pay or Father Womé can pay. We don’t need your money.”
Carla met her eyes for a moment, then nodded in acquiescence.
This led to a bout of gossip about particular people within the Community who were sick or feeling the acute effects of old age. Carla let the women talk, once exchanging a smile with Betty, both acknowledging the minor travails of trying to help the Community.
When the gossiping seemed to have run its course, Carla asked if they had any news about the night assaults over the past week.
Eunice’s two friends made tutting sounds and shook their heads, casting their eyes to the ground. Eunice’s face was a mask of contempt. “Those police don’t do from nothing; like back home. No police for the poor. I wasn’t expecting that here, in America, where everyone is equal.”
Feeling the need to respond to Eunice’s sarcasm, Betty Askins said, “It’s not supposed to work that way here,” but her dubiousness was clear in her voice.
Eunice snorted in disgust.
Carla said, “We have a friend in the police who’s working on getting the police back out here.”
Eunice said, “You going to save us, dear?”
Carla was stopped cold.
Eunice smiled. “Don’t worry about the police, Carla.”
“Okay, Eunice,” Carla said, tentative.
“When we make up our minds, the Community can take care of ourselves.”
Carla nodded, wondering what Eunice meant by that.