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Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God, I whispered, though I didn't hear any words coming from my throat.

I felt as if I'd been cooked for dinner, a chicken in the pot, now being scrubbed with a brush and making skin already red and tender sting like fire.

I turned into Our Jane and began to cry, helplessly, uncontrollably. The Lysol in the water crept into my eyes, burned them. Reaching blindly, I found the cold-water spigot and turned it on, threw a handful of water in my face, relieving the pain in my eyes.

Strangely, Kitty didn't object. She seemed intent on finishing her inspection of the cleft between my buttocks. On hands and knees, I kept throwing cold water on my face, chest, shoulders, back.

"Now I'm gonna rinse off all t'suds," Kitty crooned tenderly, patting my raw bottom as if I were a baby. "Germs all gone now, all gone. Clean baby, clean, sweet, nice, obedient baby. Turn ova, let Mother rinse ya off."

Deep in my private hell, I turned to sprawl helplessly in the tub, my feet lifted and hanging over the side to lend some relief and coolness to the rest of me.

"I'm gonna be real careful not to get any of this in yer eyes, but yer gonna have t'do yer part by holdin still. Stuff done killed yer lice, if ya had any. Yer a new person, almost. Ya want that, don't ya? Ya want us t'do nice thins fer ya, don't ya? Want Cal an me t'love ya, don't ya? We kin't if ya don't cooperate, kin we? It's yer duty t'be clean, t'do what we want. Stop cryin. Don't tell dear Cal it hurt, that'll make him cry. He's weak, tenderhearted, ya know. All men are. Babies more than they're lil boys. Ya kin't tell em that, makes em mad, but that's t'truth. Scared of women, all of em are, every last man in this old mean world, terrified of mommy, of wifey, of daughta, of sista, of auntie, of granny, of lovey-dovey girlfriends. Got pride, they have. Too much of it. Feared of rejection, like we don't get it all t'time. They want ya, kin't leave ya alone, but when they got ya, they wish they didn't have ya, or, worse than anythin, wish they didn't need ya. So they go around thinkin they kin find nother woman who's different.

"Ain't none of us different. So be sweet eltim, make him think he's got ya sold on how big, strong, an wonderful he is, an ya'll be doin me a big favor, so then I kin do ya a big favor."

Kitty kneaded deeper and deeper into my mass of matted hair. "I saw t'shack ya lived in. I know what ya are underneath that sweet, innocent face. Same look yer ma had. Hated her then. Ya make sure I don't end up hatin ya."

Now the water was cold, soothing my burning skin, my sore scalp, and Kitty was smiling. Smiling, and fanning away the steam.

By the time I was out and standing on a plain white mat that Kitty pulled from the linen closet, I was trembling with relief to be alive. Every bit of me stung, every bit was red, even the whites of my eyes when I glanced in the long mirrors. But I was alive-- and I was clean. Cleaner than I'd ever been in my entire life--about that Kitty was right.

"Ya see, ya see," soothed Kitty, hugging and kissing me. "It's all ova, all ova, an yer betta than new. Look new, ya do. Look spick an span an sweet. An, honey, now I'm gonna smooth on some nice pink lotion that will help take t'burn from yer poor red skin. Didn't mean t'scare ya. Didn't know yer skin were so tender, but ya gotta realize I had t'do somethin drastic to remove all t'years of accumulated filth. T'stink of those hockeypots an outhouses was ground inta yer skin, clingin t'yer hair; even if ya couldn't smell it, I could. Now yer cleaner than a newborn babe."

Smiling, she picked up a big pink bottle with a gold label and gently smoothed on lotion that felt cooling.

Somehow I managed to smile gratefully. Kitty wasn't so bad, not really. She was like Reverend Wayland Wise, shouting and putting the fear of God's retaliation into everyone to make them better. God and hot water, about the same thing.

"Don't ya feel wonderful, betta than eva before? Haven't I saved ya from t'gutter, haven't I? Don't ya feel reborn, fresh, brand-new? Ready now t'face the world that would condemn ya but fer me?"

"Yes . . ."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Ya see," said Kitty, towel-drying my hair, wrapping it in a clean faded pink towel before she used another towel to dry my almost raw body, "ya survived. If yer skin is a little red, it's still there. Yer hurtin, but all medicine meant to heal is nasty. Ya have t'suffa t'be cleansed an made whole an decent."

Kitty's hypnotic voice in the fading mists lulled me

into a sense of security as the pain eased. Then she began to comb my still-damp hair.

Ouch!

It hurt!

My hair was matted in thick wads to my scalp--wads that Kitty was determined to untangle even if she had to pull out every strand.

"Let me do it," I cried, snatching the comb from her hands. "I know how."

"Ya know how? Have ya spent years an years of yer life standin on yer feet until they ache up ta yer waist? Have ya studied hair? Have ya--have ya?"

"No," I whispered, really trying to work out the tangles with my fingers before I attempted again to use the comb, "but I know my own hair. When it's washed you have to be careful not to bunch it up and screw it around, like you just did."

"Are ya tryin' t'tell me my own business?"

At that moment a door slammed downstairs. Cal's soft voice called out. "Honey, where are you?"

"Up here, darlin love. He1pin this poor chile rid herself of filth. Soon as I've finished with her, I'm comin t'take care of ya." She hissed in my ear. "Now, don't ya go complainin t'him, ssssista. What we do when we're alone is none of his damned business . . . understand?"