38

 

       ELVIRA

 

    Well, there goes Doug.  Imagine he's going down to the firehouse.  I was hoping he'd come down here first; I was going to send him for sugar.

    Why didn't you say something?  I woulda stopped at the IGA on the way up.  It's on the way.

    I didn't think about it until we were off the phone and anyway, I thought he'd come down here before he went down.

    I don't see why he goes down there anyway.  They just sit there and talk dirty and yell at cars and wash the truck two three times a day.  If it wasn't for Marlon being one of them, they'd been arrested for loitering or vagrancy or something long ago.  I'm just glad Jim

    That's right; you just be glad Jim don't hang around down there and let that be an end to it, I tell her.  Your brother's a man, and what he wants to do with his time off is up to him.

    She turns back to Derek.  Jim wouldn't dare if he wanted to.  Earl was right about him; nice fellow but not the brightest God's made, nor the bravest.  She has him wrapped around her little finger.  She could always do that though.  Her daddy couldn't say no to her, and neither could anybody else.  Big football players that coulda picked her up with one hand following her around like a buncha baby ducks, making fools out of themselves and loving every minute.  I never did figure why she picked Jim.  I don't recall that she ever showed any special feeling for any of them.  But then it didn't come as any surprise when she came in from school one day and said Jim Carbaugh'd asked her to marry him and she guessed she'd say yes.  I don't think I even took my hands out of the dishwater.  Maybe he was just the first to ask.  Her daddy didn't take it as well, but like I say, he never could say no.

    If she'd have been a real looker I'd have understood it better, but--God forgive me for saying it of my own daughter--she never was even pretty, even when she was just little.  No ankles.  Too wide in the hips.  Sure, she developed early but not trim and pretty like a girl          not like I did, more like a woman grown and finished before she started.  She was sagging, her shoulders bowed forward before I realized she needed a training brassiere.  Earl and I just sat there and watched it all; we never said a word about it to each other, but we both knew we had nothing to say in any of it.  He always seemed sad about it.

    Jimmy rushes in, leaving the screen door to ease itself closed.  Let all the flies in town in here.  He runs up to his mother and pulls her down to whisper in her ear.

    I don't know.  You'll have to ask Mammaw if you can have a cookie.  You're not at home.

    He comes up to me, patting his little hands together and not looking up.  Mammaw?  Do you have cookies?

    Sure, Doesn't your mammaw always have cookies?  There's some Oreos over there in the bread box, and I made you some date ones the other day.  They're in the jar.  What kind would you like?

    He shrugs, his little shoulders bony and narrow under the striped tee shirt.  You're just bashful, aren't you?  Here, you take some of each.  There, give one of those to Derek.          

    You leave some of those date cookies in there.  Your Uncle Doug'll skin you alive.  Now, you thank mammaw.

    He makes a sound that'll pass for a thank you and goes back out.  I can make more for Doug, I tell her.  I don't have that much to do around here.

    Well, I just think it's awful that Aunt Lorraine's not  going to help with the canning this year.  They are their trees now, after all.

    She just doesn't have the time this year with all they're doing up to the house and all.  Says she's just too busy.  And I never have that much I have to do.  You know I like to keep my hands

    That's not the point.  She shifts the baby to the other shoulder.  And what's she mean with all they're doing?  I haven't seen her do much up there but fuss and yell.  Poor Uncle Art is doing all the work.

    Your poor Uncle Art is doing what he wants up there, and don't you think otherwise.  I've never seen a man yet that was happy when he wasn't making a mess.  Can't leave things as they are.  And as for your Aunt Lorraine, I quit trying to explain her years ago.  There's no point to it.  I glance over my shoulder at her, but she isn't listening.  She has her blouse undone and is feeding Derek.  I look away, but the picture stays with me.  The breast is heavy and blue-veined, the nipple as brown and big as a ginger cookie.  The baby looses his grip on it and lets it slip from his mouth; strings of saliva join the two.  She maneuvers the wrinkled brown thing back into his mouth without her hands, slick as a whistle.  I look again.  Both of them have their eyes closed.

    Why does she have to do that?  There's nothing wrong with breast-feeding no matter what Lorraine may say, but there's something about when Janice does it that makes me feel all          I don't know, embarrassed, I guess.  I guess it's in how she just can do it without thinking where she is, like an animal.  Like she says, there's nothing to be ashamed of, it's perfectly natural, but when I see her do it, I feel like I should leave the room.  I recall Missus Colley down the street.  Momma and I used to visit right after she had Camille.  She'd toss a dish towel over her shoulder, unbutton her dress and shove the baby in under the towel without missing a word in the conversation.  Now, that seemed natural to me.   She could crochet or needlepoint during.

    Janice is oblivious to everything around her.  She doesn't even know I'm standing here looking at her.  She is aware of nothing save that mouth          No, that's not it either.  Maybe it's just the look on her face.  That little smile.  Her eyes closed.  I get uncomfortable just thinking about it; it's like I'm watching something I shouldn't.

    I look away again and stare out the window, trying to think of something else.  The house looks so different now.  I never thought that would bother me, but it does.  It's not the same house.  It's as if total strangers had bought and changed it so it'll never be the same.  Torn it down and put that thing there in its place.  Already I feel funny walking in there, even though it is pretty much the same inside.  So far.  A stranger's house.  Strange at my age that I should worry about a piece of my childhood disappearing, but somehow it makes less          I don't know what. It's hard enough for me to see why I'm still here.  I'm not a wife now, and my use as a mother isn't all it cracked up to be.  I'm supposed to think that Doug stays here because he needs me, but I'm not that stupid.  If anything, I hold him back from doing something.  I don't know what but something he'd do if I wasn't here.  I've told myself that it's for my grandchildren, but I don't really believe that.  Anyone could give them cookies and watch them while their momma goes to the store.  And then the one piece of me that has stayed the same and never changed is gone.  Gone as sure as if they'd tore it down and picked it up and moved it.  I used to love looking out this window.  Now I can't even remember why, what I used to feel when I'd look up that hill and see it there.  And maybe that isn't the scariest thing about it.  It's realizing how important all that was all those years, realizing why i spent so much time here just gazing out.  And having it all gone before I realized what it meant to me.  I hope it makes Art happy.  I sincerely do.

    Mom?

    Hm?  What?  Oh, I'm sorry, honey.  What did you ask me?

    It wasn't important.  I was just thinking about Susie.  So you think she's ever going to have any babies?

    I don't know.  I've never really given it much thought.  Why?

    I can't imagine it.  Susie a momma          Somehow I can't see that.

    Why?

    I don't know.  Maybe it's the way she acts around Jimmy and Derek.  As if she's afraid of them.

    Maybe Wes doesn't want any.

    If you ask me, Wes is a queer duck if there ever was one.

    Janice!  What would make you say that?  What'd he ever do to you?

    Nothing.  It's just the way he acts.  I don't think he's ever said a full sentence to me.

    Maybe he's just quiet.

    No.  I don't know, but I don't think he likes us.

    Who?

    Us.  All of us.  It's as if we aren't really here, as if he was watching a movie or something and didn't have to talk back.  Yeah, that's it.  It's like he's here to watch us.   I expect him to take notes sometimes.

    He's always been nice enough to me.

    I didn't say he was nasty or anything.  I just don't think he likes us.

    Well, that's his right.  Just look at this family.  I'm not sure if I had the choice

    What?  I think this is a nice little family.

    I smile at her.  Of course it is.  And we're all lovely people.

    I didn't say that.  We both laugh, knowing what the other is thinking.  Well, anyway, I don't think she will.

    What?

    Susie.  I don't think she'll have any babies.

    Well, you can ask her yourself.  Her mother called and said they were coming for a visit the weekend after the fourth.

    I wouldn't do that.

    Why not?  You're dying to.

    I just wouldn't.  Suppose they can't.

    That's the only reason you can think of for not having any, isn't it?

    Wouldn't that be terrible?  To never be able to          I can understand why she'd turn to something like that career of her's.  I don't

    Did you ever think that she might not want children?

    No.

    I didn't think so.

    Why wouldn't she?

    I can see in her face that the thought never occurred to her, and I know that it is not in her to understand anything I could say.  Instead I just shrug and say, I don't know.  She takes that as a surrender, as proof that the whole idea is ridiculous, and I've been her mother long enough to know that she's happier with that than any amount of truth I could tell her.  I gave up long ago trying to stuff the truth down anybody's throat.

    Mom, I think you try to hard.  You try to make sense out of what everybody else does and understand it.  You're just too nice.

    I just smile.  Let her think that too.