Forbidden Fruit

She looked around her, eyebrows drawn together in thought. The library ladder was on the opposite wall; the two chairs, big, old leather things, were too heavy for her to move by herself, the sofa too big to even contemplate.

“Darn,” she muttered. “What to do?”

Her gaze lighted on the brass wastepaper basket in the corner. She crossed to it and plucked out the wadded papers, then carried it across the room. She set it upside down in front of the shelf, then climbed onto it. She stretched; the wastebasket wobbled; the book remained out of her reach. Bracing herself with one hand, she stood on tiptoe and reached her other hand as high as she could. She still didn’t come close.

“Darn,” she said again, this time loudly, forgetting stealth.

From behind her came a yawn and the creak of leather. Glory gasped and swiveled, nearly toppling the basket and herself. Danny Cooper, the housekeeper’s six-year-old grandson stared sleepily at her over the top of one of the leather wingbacks.

She glared at him, her heart still racing. “You about scared me to death. What are you doing in here?”

“Staying out of the way.” He yawned again. “Mom had to go to the doctor and Grandma said to be good. She’s always telling me that when I’m here. I wanted to play, but I couldn’t find you.”

“Mama has a headache this morning. Grand-mère took me out for beignets.”

He rested his chin on top of the chair back. “You want to go play?”

Glory tipped her head, studying the six-year-old. She and Danny had played together since he was a toddler, and although he was too young to call her best friend, secretly she thought of him that way.

She hopped off the wastebasket. “I’ve got a better idea. Can you keep a secret?”

“You bet.” He nodded, punctuating his answer.

“I need you to help me get one of those books.” She pointed toward the books on the fourth shelf.

He lowered his voice to a whisper. “How come?”

She looked to her left, then to her right. “Grand-mère,” she said in an exaggerated whisper, “took me to the art museum yesterday. And I saw something that—” Her cheeks heated, and she shook her head. “Anyway, when I asked Grand-mère about it, she turned red and said we had to go home. And we had just gotten there, too.”

He lifted his gaze to the shelf of art books. “What you saw is in those books?”

“Uh-huh.” She followed his gaze. “And I want to see it again.”

“I can get Granny to help.”

“No!” Glory held out her hands to stop him. “You can’t.” She brought a finger to her lips and tiptoed over to him. “I’m not supposed to see those books. They’re forbidden.”

“Oh.” His eyes twinkled. “Can I see, too?”

“I’ll let you see, if you’ll help me. But you have to keep it a secret. Can you?”

He nodded solemnly. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“If we’re caught, we’ll get in trouble. Big trouble.” At the thought of her mother discovering her disobedience, a quiver of fear moved through her. Glory caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and glanced at the partially closed library door. Her mother had not gotten up that morning; she never did when she had one of her headaches. Most times, when she had one of her headaches, Glory didn’t see her until dinner. Sometimes not even then.

Reassured, she returned her gaze to Danny’s. She tipped up her chin in challenge. “Can you handle that?”

He straightened and puffed out his narrow chest. “If you can, I can.”

“Good.” Glory rubbed her hands together. “The first thing we need to do is to move this chair over to the shelves. If we both push, I’ll bet we can do it.”

He climbed off the chair and together, giggling, they alternately pushed and pulled it across the room. They parked the chair directly underneath the Michelangelo book; Glory climbed up and a moment later, she closed her fingers over it.

The volume was large and heavy; Glory very nearly couldn’t get it off the shelf. She wiggled it to the edge, then lost her grip and it crashed to the floor, making a huge racket. Glory’s heart skipped a beat. She looked at Danny, he looked at her. They both turned toward the library door, half-frozen with the certainty that they were about to be found out.

One moment became many, and finally Glory was able to draw an even breath. She held a finger to her lips, then scrambled off the chair to retrieve the book. She opened it, flipped through, and found what she had been seeking. The sculpture was called David; he had curly hair and a pretty face.

And he was naked.

Cheeks burning, she lowered her eyes, almost afraid of what she might—or might not—see. But there it was, at the top of the man’s thighs, like pieces of rolled-up fruit or a cannoli.

Glory narrowed her eyes, studying. It looked so weird, so strange and out of place. She touched the photograph lightly, both intrigued and repelled. Did all men look like this? Did all men have a cannoli between their legs?

“No fair!” Danny craned his neck. “Let me see…let me see.”

Glory tore her gaze from the strange and beautiful image, though it took great effort. “Are you sure you’re old enough?”

He lifted his chin. “If you are, I am.”

“I’m two years older than you.”

“But I’m a boy.”

She glared up at him. “Big whip. I’m still older than you are.”

He stuck out his lower lip. “You promised.”

“Oh, all right. But don’t blame me.” Glory handed him the book. He looked at the page, his expression blank. “What?”

“That,” she said, reaching up and pointing.

He tipped his head, studying the image. “What?” he said again.

Cheeks on fire, Glory stood on tiptoe and pointed to the exact place in question, the rolled kernels of flesh at the apex of the man’s thighs. “That!”

“You mean, his penis?”

Glory stared at him aghast. A penis? It was called a penis?

“I have one, too. All boys do.”

All boys had a…penis. Dumbfounded, she climbed back onto the chair and took the book from Danny’s hands. Admittedly, she’d had little contact with boys. She attended an all-girls school, and other than Danny and a couple of distant cousins, she had never been allowed to spend time alone with boys.

Her mother had told her that was because nice girls didn’t associate with boys. But Glory knew that other boys and girls went to school together, that they played together. She had seen them over the estate wall, she had seen them get on the streetcar together, had seen them riding their bicycles, side by side, down the avenue. And she had listened to the other girls at school talk, girls who she had always thought were nice.

Glory frowned. But still, it smarted that little Danny, just out of kindergarten, was privy to this important information. It smarted, too, that he acted so casual about it, as if everyone knew about penises. Everyone but her, that was.

Danny was a boy, Glory remembered suddenly. That’s why he knew. He probably had no idea what girls had. She drew herself up to her full forty-eight inches and told him so.