30

 

       ELVIRA

 

    I can hear it before I get up around the corner; something's going on.  It's one of those big digger things, an earthmover.  It sounds like a wild animal, groaning and straining like an animal in a trap, trying to rip itself free.  I've been hearing it all morning but didn't know that it was up here.  I thought maybe somebody down the street was doing something, putting in a pool or something like that.  Somebody's always talking about putting in a pool, but nobody ever does.  If I'd have known it was up here, I'd have been up sooner.

    I tuck the box tighter under my arm and hurry up the driveway.  The mornings are still cool, and the ground is covered with the wet from the night before.  There is something they say about Sunday night dew on Monday morning grass. 

    Daddy?  I open the door.  He waves me into the kitchen.  I take the sweater from my shoulders and put the box on the table.  What's going on out there?

    Art.  He's got that fella digging a hole.

    I see that, Daddy.  What for?  You going to have a swimming pool?

    No!

    I can see he's angry.  He shoves out his jaw and his teeth start to rattle in his mouth.  He gets that disgusted look on his face.  No, I ain't getting no swimmin' pool.

    I was just kidding, Daddy.  I knew it wasn't a pool; it's too close to the house to be a pool.  It's right tight up against the house.  What's Art digging for?

    I dunno.

    You don't know?  You mean he didn't tell you?  He just started to dig?

    He told me.  He told me they was coming up to dig.  Said they'd be here this morning.

    His eyes watch the window.  His voice drifts with his mind.  A yellow arm swings by, dumping a load of dirt over its back.

    But he didn't say what it was for?

    He just huffs.  I know that huff.  It used to mean, I told you once, next time I'll show you.  Now it just means, I ain't saying it again.

    I lift the lid of the box and take out one of the slippers.  Look here, Daddy.  I went down to Shaeffer's the other night on the way to the IGA.  See, they have nice soft stuff on the inside, velveteen, it feels like.  They ought to be plenty big.  Here, why don't you try them on?

    What are they doing now?

    I don't know, Daddy.  I guess they're still digging.  Here, why don't you give me your foot, and I'll see how it fits?

    He ignores me, that stubborn look to his jaw.  I look out the window for him.  The machine is just idling, and the man has jumped down into the hole to poke around with a shovel.

    What are they doing now?  He asks again.

    There's only one.  He's digging with a shovel.  He's hit a rock or something, that's all.  I back away from the window and pick up the slipper.  Without saying anything, I hunker down, pull the old slipper off his foot and put the new one on.  It's a little big.  There, how's that?  Feel okay?

    Swelling's gone.

    I know better than to expect a thank you.  I put the other slipper on him.  It's getting warmer, and I think about opening a window, but the digger starts up the straining again.  It's an ugly sound.

    So, I say, standing up and wiping my hands on my skirt.  So, how are you feeling?

    He just watches for the arm to swing again.  I worm my way past his chair and into the bedroom.  I start to make his bed.  The sheets smell of him, of the oldness that just seems to scale off his skin like blistered paint, leaving flakes of white for me to brush off onto the floor before I can pull the coverlet up.  You won't  need these covers much longer, I call out to the kitchen.  It's getting warmer every day.  I just used a sheet last night.

    He doesn't answer.

    Lorraine been up?  I saw the car up here yesterday, but Mrs. Killian was down to my place, and I couldn't get up.  Janice was down with the boys.  Jim had to work.  I don't think he likes to work on Sunday, but when they call him, he goes.  It's steady work if you don't mind not knowing when they're going to call.  I saw Art was measuring and stuff like that, but I never guessed he was going to do something like this.  Wonder what Lorraine thinks about it.  Thought he was just going to do a little fixing up, never thought          Well, I guess you know best.

    He isn't listening.  I can just feel the echo of my voice coming back to me.  Even if he could hear me, he wouldn't.  Without looking, I know he's still looking out the window, his hands rubbing the arms of his chair until the skin is almost rubbed away.  He's somewhere else, as Earl used to say.  I just talk because it's more comfortable to hear the echo of my own ramblings than to stay quiet in the deadness of his.

    I bet Lorraine ain't none too happy about all this, is she?  Lorraine's never happy about much of anything.  But we know Lorraine, don't we Daddy?  We know the ins and outs of my little sister.  We're the only ones that remember.  The kids never knew, and everybody else has forgotten  I think she and Art have even forgotten.  All she remembers is the crying.  Boy, that thing makes an ugly sound, don't it?

    I push the spread in under the pillow and brush the wrinkles down.  His dirty clothes are in a pile under the clothes tree.  I go around the room, tidying.  Well anyway, I say, I guess we're the only ones that remember.  You remember that baby boy, don't you, Daddy?  You remember the way she was before that.  I thought when she got pregnant again          and Eric was such a pretty little baby.  Art seemed to get better then, but not her.  She just fussed around like a mother hen until she drove him away.

    But it didn't work, they've forgotten that he's a boy and not the second chance at a maybe.  She can't see what she has because of what she mighta lost.

    The room looks some better.  When I go back into the kitchen, he is watching the doorway.  I stop, my eyes searching his.  How much of it did he hear?  What's the matter, Daddy?

    I asked what he's doing now.

    Oh.  my heart calms.  He's still digging.  He's moved around here to the side.  Looks like Art's gonna put a ditch all the way around you.  A moat.  Maybe he's building a castle for you.  It's about three or four feet deep.

    He nods.  Where's Doug?

    Working.  They're finally fixing the potholes on Prince Street, and he's driving truck for them.  He said to tell you he'll be up to shave you tonight or tomorrow.  That okay?

    Uh huh.  He nods.  You tell him I want him to worsh that dog.

    The dog?  Why?

    He sticks his jaw out.

    Okay, I'll tell him.  He won't like it much, but I'll tell him.

    You tell him.

    I will.

    What's he doing now?

    I told you, he's driving truck for the          Oh, I see what you mean.  He's just digging, Daddy.  He's finished over on that side and now he's over here at the back.  Just like I told you.

    His face seems to just shrivel up into itself.  His hands begin to rub again.

    Daddy, you're rubbing on the chair again.  You're not paying any attention to what you're doing.  Now that can't help but irritate the

    You give him a call.

    What?  You want me to ask this fellow

    No, no.  You call up Art.  I want to talk to Art.

    Now Daddy, you know Art's not at home.  You can wait and call him up tonight.

    Call him.

    Daddy, I'm not going to call Art, and I don't want you calling him up and bothering him after I'm gone.  Lorraine says they don't much like him getting personal calls at the office.  She don't call herself unless it's an emergency.  She didn't even call the time Eric had that intestinal thing; she just took him to the clinic herself, and Art didn't know about it until he got home that night.

    His jaw is out about as far as it'll go, but I think he knows I'm not going to call.  He cranes his neck around to see out the back.    

    Here, you want me to help you move over there by the door, where you can see for yourself?  Here, you lean on your cane, and I'll take the chair.  You steady there?  Okay, you stay right there, and I'll be right back.  Just don't you move.  Okay, okay now you take it nice and easy and you'll be over here in no time.  Easy there.  There now, that wasn't so tough, was it?  Oh, look how dirty that window is.  It's a wonder you can see anything          here I'll get something to

    How can anybody move that slow?  Sometimes I think it has to be just an act, that nobody could really move that slow, but then he'll sit and , I'll hear the creak and the crack of him bending, and the shivers'll just

    Here, I got some paper towels and some window stuff.  You tell Lorraine that you're almost out of window cleaner.  I'd get it myself but I did all my shopping on Saturday, and anyway, she drives.  There now, isn't that better?  Can you see what he's doing now?  See, I told you he was just digging.  Here, I'll write you a grocery list.  Lorraine'll probably be up this evening.  Anything you know of besides the window stuff?

    Juice and some of them cakes.       

    Cakes?  What kind of cakes?

    Them good ones.  Nuts.  Lorraine knows.

    I'm sure she does.  Anything else?

    He doesn't even shrug; he just doesn't answer.

    Okay then, I'll just leave this here and you tell her if you think of anything else.

    I don't have any juice.  The words come out like a surprise, like he's just thought of them for the first time.

    Okay.  You told me about the juice.  I put it down.  I straightened up in there.  Anything else you want me to do before I go?

    He continues to stare out the door glass.

    Daddy, I'm going.  I raise my voice.

    To show he's heard me, he waves his hand.

    Now you remember what I told you!  Don't you call Art at the office!  They'll be up tonight, and you can talk to him then.  Don't you try to get to the phone from over there.  You'll just irritate something and get Art mad in the bargain.  You hear me?

    He waves again but doesn't look at me.

    I gather up my sweater and the empty slipper box.  The old slippers go in the trash, but I keep the box.  He'd just throw it away or put some of his junk in it, and I can use it.  It'll do to wrap something in, come Christmas.  So as not to disturb him, I go out the front door, careful not to step on the bad places in the porch.  It strikes me that I haven't gone out the front door in years, not since I've had my own home.  The hooks are still there, but the swing's been gone this long time.