46

 

       JOHN PLUMMER

 

    Who led the queen?

    Doug did.

    Heh heh, looks like I might save my meld after all!  I was beginning to wonder.

    With him playing like that, you could just win.  Clare stabs a crooked old finger through a pretzel and hooks it over to his mouth.  It disappears save for a spray of crumbs and saliva.  Doug glances at him, his eyes guilty and angry at the same time.  The old man doesn't notice.  He trumps the ten.

    Hey, that was the last good card I had.

    He makes a wheezing sound that I take for a laugh.  It does my heart good to hear the happiness that winning brings him.  As if he were a child, we always make a point of it when he bests us in a particularly painful way.  We do not let him win; he would spot that in a second, but he does allow us to patronize him this way, making a fuss when he beats us.

    The screen door creaks in the same way that it has for years.  We all look up except Clare.  Doug seems to tighten up, like a knot drawn in from both ends, his body shrinking into itself.  I tip my glass up and watch the door out of the corner of my eye.  Art steps through the space and wipes his feet on the mat.  He says something to Lorraine and Elvira, and the door squeals closed; it's a sound--like old leather--that I've come to love.  It is a sound of my father and my mother and a past I don't remember at all.  He comes toward us, smiling a smug little smile.  Like he swallowed a canary.

    I would oil that old thing, but they promised me the aluminum stuff'll be here on Monday.  Not much point in it now, I guess.

    He pushes his sleeves further back and begins to wash his hands in the brand-new stainless steel sink.

    Don't tell Lorraine I'm washing my hands in here.  He winks. Who's winning?

    Who do you think?  I grin at him.

    Clare lays a card.

    What's the idea of walling up that doorway?

    Art stops, his arms lathered to the elbows.  What do you mean, what's the idea?  I'm closing off the doorway.  That's all.

    Right in front of him?

    Eric and I both stare at the table.  Clare studies his cards.

    It's going to be the pantry.  It's not big enough for anything else.  And on the other side is going to be the dining room.

    It's his bedroom!

    It's where he sleeps; it was never a bedroom until he decided he wasn't going up and down the stairs anymore.

    You know he can't!

    We'll be here.  There's no reason he has to.

    So in the mean time you just drywall up that doorway right in front of him?  Right while he's sitting there in bed?

    Art nods.  I guess that's where he was when I started it.  I took him outside when he started coughing at the dust.  Next, I'm doing the window.

    The window?

    Yep.  I don't want a window in the pantry.  I'm walling it up before they come with the siding.

    You're walling up his window?  Doug just stares at him, his face unbelieving.  You'd do that?

    I told you, it's not going to be his room.  It's going to be my pantry.  I always thought it would be nice to have a pantry.

    And what are you going to do with him?  Put him out on the porch?

    No.  He grins and rinses his arms.  No, I thought I'd put him out with that dog of his, he's taken such a liking to it lately.

    God damn it!

    Art stops, for the first time realizing how serious Doug is.  He drops the towel on the new countertop.  Now listen here Doug.  I told him what I was going to do.  There's a nice little room over the new living room.  I took his toilet up there for him, and he'll be right next to our bedroom if he needs help with anything.

    You know he can't go them stairs!

    Like I said, there's no reason why he should have to.  We're going to be here.

    Doug just sits there, his elbows on the table, looking for all the world like he's going to leap at Art any second.  So, this is the way you do it, he finally says.  This is the way you do it.

    What?  Art looks at me.  What's he talking about?

    I shrug and shake my head.

    Look, what are you getting all bothered about this for?  It didn't seem to faze him in the least when I told him.  He faces Clare, Did it?  You didn't say a thing.  What'd you say to him?

    He didn't say a word to me.  I just came up here and saw all that wood in there and I couldn't believe you'd do that.  I thought I knew you pretty good.  I thought I would be able to tell.  Jesus!  You sure fooled me.

            Art looks like somebody just hauled off and hit him.  He stares at Doug for a minute, but I can tell there won't be any more words.  They look at each other like that for a few more seconds, each of them waiting for the other to do something.  Finally the old man coughs.  He shakes from head to toe.  Art gets the pitcher from the pitcher and fills a glass.  It's a jelly glass, with Yogi Bear on the side.  Anybody want any while it's out?  He asks, his voice low and kind of husky.  Eric pushes his chair back a little.  We all shake our heads except Doug.  Nobody wants any.