FORBIDDEN FRUIT

“What will the teacher say when she sees your dirty fingernails?” Mother was talking to Margaret, who was dutifully getting ready for school one cold morning.

“She looks at them every day and asks us, “Did we brush our teeth?”

“Well, dig your fingernails into this bar of soap and then we’ll clean them with a brush and a toothpick.”

“Like this? “ asked Margaret, making grooves in the soap. She didn’t exactly enjoy the process of getting clean, but she did not want to suffer the disapproval of her teacher.

Jenny watched in utter fascination from her high chair look-out, letting her oatmeal grow cold.

That afternoon was one of those times when Jenny was unable to find anything she especially wanted to do. It was too cold to play outside and Mother was busy sweeping and mopping the floor. Jenny walked over to the wash stand and picked up the gray bar of Lava soap.

“I’m goin’ to eat some,” she said, half to herself.

“Jenny, put that down and don’t eat any of that soap. Don’t ever eat soap, because soap has lye in it and it will burn out your throat and you’ll die.”

“I want to eat some,” Jenny whined obstinately.

Mother didn’t feel inclined to argue with a two-year-old , so she took the soap from Jenny’s hand and placed it on the window sill, high above Jenny’s head.

“After a while, Mother went to the corner where the everyday coats hung and put on an old sweater, a blue denim jacket of Daddy’s and her sunbonnet.

“Where you goin?’”

“Just out to get a basket of cobs. I’ll be right back.”

Mother took the bushel basket from beside the stove and went out the door. Jenny pressed her head against the cold window, steaming it with her breath, and saw that Mother was on her way to the cob pile. Quickly she dragged a chair to the window still. It made a loud, grating sound
against the boards of the floor. She then climbed on the chair, reached for the soap and dug her fingernail into the bar. With her front teeth she scraped a little of the soap from her fingernail. She put the chair back and sat down on her little red chair. By now the bit of soap began to burn her mouth, tongue and throat and some of the burning feeling even went up her nose. Her eyes watered from the burning, but she didn’t cry. Maybe it would burn her throat out and she would die like the little rabbit that was buried in a shoe box out by the garage with a brick over his grave.

Jenny heard footsteps on the porch. She wouldn’t tell about the soap because Mother had said not to eat it and Mother would scold. Mother opened the door.

“Whew!” she said. “It’s windy out. Cold too.”

“I want a drink,” Jenny said. The taste of the soap was still strong in her mouth. It appeared she wasn’t going to die after all, but she never forgot that taste, and she never ate soap again.