Edith’s Diary (5 page)

On Christmas Eve day, just after 4 p.m., Ed and Marion Zylstra arrived on the bus, bearing gifts, bottles, and a lightweight suitcase. Edith had met them with the car.

‘Hello, darling! Isn’t it perfect weather!’ Marion said, embracing Edith.

Snow had fallen during the night, some eight inches of it, and now the sun shone brightly. Everything looked clear and white, and the Delaware River was a noble gray-blue between its rocky, snow-covered banks.

‘And how are you, Ed?’ Edith asked. They were storing things in the back of the car.

‘Pretty well, thanks. Looking forward to three days without duty. Not that we have to camp on you that long!’

‘But we hope you will. We really do.’ Edith remembered that Ed always called his work duty, like a soldier. He was about forty, blond and blue-eyed, with a muscular, not very tall figure which Edith had always thought rather sexy. It was only the second time the Zylstras had come to Brunswick Corner.

‘I suppose you’ve been working wonders in the house since we saw you?’ Marion said.

‘Well, you’ll see. Here we are.’ The bus stop was hardly a quarter of a mile from the house.

Marion and Ed exclaimed at the changes in the living room. The curtains were all hung now, the windowsills graced with a potted plant here and there, the bookcase loaded – just as in New York. A six-foot Christmas tree stood by the back window, far enough from the fireplace that its needles had a chance of lasting ten days.

Edith made old-fashioneds in the kitchen.

‘And where’s Brett?’ Marion asked. ‘Working today?’

‘Just this morning. He’ll be home any minute – from Trenton. He’s bringing the first issue of the
Bugle
so we can christen it.’

‘I’m longing to see it!’

Edith went into the larder off the kitchen, and had just lifted a jar of maraschino cherries from a shelf, when she noticed the turkey – the turkey’s breast. A great gouge had been taken or eaten out of each side of the raw breast, and Edith at once thought of Mildew, because it looked as if a cat’s teeth had been as it, then thought of Cliffie, because the larder door had been firmly closed. Edith glanced at the floor. The cat was not in the larder. Cliffie might have put Mildew at the turkey, Edith thought, because Mildew on her own wasn’t a thief, well fed as she was. No, these gouges were man-made. No time to stew over it, and no time to buy another turkey either, though the appearance of this one was ruined.

Brett arrived, bearing a stack of
Bugles
which he had to carry in both arms with interlocked fingers. Norm Johnson had just dropped him in front of the house, Brett said, but he hadn’t time to come in. The Johnsons were due to look in later, around midnight.

‘Tooty-toot-toot, the
Bugle
!
Let’s see it!’ Marion said.

Brett lowered the stack to the floor. ‘Just distributed about three hundred with Norm’s help. Local stores. These I have to distribute tomorrow. Well, some tonight, shops nearby. Things are open late tonight.’

Edith refrained from seizing a copy, went into the kitchen and made a drink for Brett. It promised to be a beautiful Christmas time. She wasn’t even dismayed by the turkey. They’d laugh at it tomorrow.

‘Thanks, darling. Cheers!’ Brett said, lifting his glass. They all drank to the
Bugle
.
Brett had on his padded army jacket with its belt hanging at the sides now, chino trousers under which, however, Edith knew he wore long underwear. Pennsylvania was often eight below zero in winter. ‘Where’s Cliffie?’ Brett asked.

‘Don’t know. Maybe out somewhere,’ Edith said.

She had baked a ham for that evening, and it was now almost done in a low oven. Somehow it was already after 6, and Edith went into the kitchen to get the dinner moving, while the Zylstras took off with Brett to help with the
Bugle
deliveries. It had grown dark, which Edith thought dramatic tonight, with the white snow everywhere outside. And it was nice to think of the earth (since yesterday) tipping toward the sun again, and to know that the days would start to become longer.

Cliffie strolled into the kitchen.

‘Well, where were you?’

‘In my room.’

Edith suddenly thought,
My God, I didn’t ask George down for a drink
.
But George often slept from 5 until dinnertime. ‘I don’t suppose you know anything about the turkey,’ Edith said as she shook the lettuce swinger over the sink.

‘The turkey? I haven’t seen it.’

‘Of course not. You don’t go into the larder usually, do you, because your Coca-Cola’s in the fridge, but —’

‘I don’t know what you’re
talking
about.’

Edith had had enough to drink to pursue it. ‘Who opened the larder door? I didn’t. Didn’t you know the turkey was there – naked?’

‘Naked? Naked turkey!’ said Cliffie, and laughed.

Edith could have slapped him. She forced herself to be calm. ‘You didn’t possibly show Mildew the turkey?’

‘No!’ Cliffie protested, all innocence.

‘You’re a liar,’ Edith said, and went about her work.

Cliffie lingered, a wishy-washy vertical object which Edith avoided looking at directly.

‘Or did you just poke at the turkey yourself with a knife?’

‘I don’t know anything
about
the turkey!’ Cliffie said, his face reddening, tears starting. Then he went aggressively to the fridge and extracted a bottle of Coca-Cola.

Dinner was merrier. George had come down, dressed. Edith was feeling mellow with the wine, and it didn’t seem of earth-shaking importance if the dishes weren’t done till tomorrow morning. The
Bugle
had been thoroughly examined. The paper was slightly glazed, the print dark, the lay-out pleasant, Edith thought.

‘Want to see some before and after snaps?’ Edith asked, dragging an album from the coffee table shelf. ‘Very
few
,
so you won’t get bored.’

They were of the house, of course, and this led Marion to look back in the album to earlier pictures of Edith and Brett and Cliffie when he was in diapers. Edith laughed loudly at some of them.

‘Here’s Poughkeepsie,’ Edith said, ‘versus Virginia. You have to admit Virginia is prettier.’

On opposite pages, Brett’s family’s redbrick house in a city street confronted Edith’s family’s house with its grounds and trees. A fact, Edith thought, of geography, not money, because Brett’s family wasn’t any poorer than hers was rich, which was to say they were both medium. Only great-aunt Melanie was rich in Edith’s family, and that because of her husband, now deceased, who had inherited part of a tobacco firm. There was a fine color picture of Aunt Melanie serving tea on her sunlit lawn near Wilmington.

‘You trust Brett in the kitchen?’ Marion asked. ‘Ed’s hopeless.’

‘Oh, Brett’s a gem. But don’t think he’s
washing
,
he’s just stacking. – Brett?’ Edith called. ‘How’s the coffee?’

‘Coming!’ And just then Brett appeared in the doorway with a tray.

Edith poured.

‘Cliffie gone to bed already?’ Brett asked.

‘Haven’t seen him,’ said George, who was nearest Brett. ‘Coffee smells so good, I think I might indulge myself tonight.’

Edith went to get another cup and saucer, and when she came back, Marion was asking:

‘Are you enjoying your life here, George?’

‘Oh, yes, indeed! Healthful climate. I ought to get out more. But it’s difficult for me to walk.’

The telephone rang.

‘Bet that’s the Johnsons,’ Edith said. Brett went to answer it. ‘You’ll like the Johnsons, Marion. I don’t think you met them the first time you were here, did you?’

‘
What
?’
Brett said in a horrified tone. ‘When? Are you s —’ The sibilant sound turned into a slow whistle.

Edith got up and walked toward the hall. ‘Brett, what’s up?’

‘Oh, he’s all right. Good. – Sure we’ll be up. We could also —’ Brett looked at the telephone, then put it down slowly, and walked toward the living room. ‘Cliffie just jumped in the river.’

‘The
river
?’
said Marion.

‘That was the hospital in Doylestown,’ Brett said. His face was paler in the last seconds.

‘Is he hurt?’ Edith asked.

‘They said no,’ Brett answered hoarsely, and sank into his chair. ‘Holy Christ! Right
here
!
Three blocks from home! Jumped in the river this time of year!’

‘Or did he fall?’ asked Ed, frowning.

‘No, they said he jumped, because someone saw him jump.’

‘How’d he get out?’ George asked.

‘They had to go get a guy with a rope. And then another man jumped in,’ Brett said. ‘Had to, because there’s a current, you know.’

George leaned forward. ‘Who was it saved him?’

‘We’ll have to find out tomorrow.’ Brett wiped his forehead, and poured more coffee for himself. ‘Yes. We ought to be grateful – for good neighbors tonight. Somebody jumped in and pulled him out.’ He glanced at Edith.

Just then the fire gave a loud
pop!

This came from beyond the front door, and the singing swelled as a group of kids climbed the front steps.

‘We ought to give them something, Brett,’ Edith said.

Ed was getting up, reaching in his trousers pocket. So was Brett. The two men went to the door.

Edith had a glimpse of five or six small children, a couple of them bearing candlesticks, standing on the doorstep.

‘Thank you! Merry Christmas!’ one said, and there was no pause in the music.

‘So Cliffie’s not hurt at all?’ George asked as Brett came back.

‘They’re treating him for shock – or exposure or something,’ Brett said. ‘They’re bringing him any minute. What the hell happened, Edie? Something happened after dinner that I didn’t notice?’

‘It was no doubt the turkey,’ Edith said, feeling embarrassed and yet not embarrassed, as everyone listened, because she’d had just enough to drink that the whole thing seemed unreal, untrue. ‘Someone gouged the turkey breast. Turkey’s in the larder. I may as well tell you now, because we’ll have to face it for tomorrow’s dinner.’ Edith felt like giggling.

‘Oh, the turkey!’ Marion said. ‘Who cares about the
turkey
?
We don’t have to have —’

‘The turkey’s
there
,’
Edith interrupted, ‘it just looks like the cat’s been at the top of it, and the larder door’s always shut
firmly
,
unless Cliffie opened it deliberately.’

‘And of course you told him he did,’ said Brett precisely, without mercy toward Cliffie, and without resentment against Edith.

‘I did because I —’ Edith had started out boldly, but suddenly she collapsed inwardly. ‘Because I know he did open the door on purpose. And I don’t even think it was Mildew, I think he poked at it with a knife to ruin it.’ She was finished. She put her face in her hands.

Marion held her in one arm, rocked her on the sofa.

And suddenly it was over. Edith lifted her head, smiled, and said, ‘I’m sorry. It’s the shock of it.’ It struck Edith that Ed was strangely silent, sober, that he perhaps didn’t like them, that he thought the atmosphere crazy, unnatural.

Edith heard the stomp of a foot on the porch, then their bell rang with a loud peal.

‘Maybe the hospital,’ Marion said.

Brett opened the door.

‘Hello! Merry Christmas!’

Gert and Norm Johnson and Derek stomped the snow off their boots on the doorstep, removed boots, and entered in stocking feet, carrying presents in red and white striped paper.

‘Merry Christmas, everybody!’ Gert repeated, smiling broadly.

‘Merry Christmas!’ Edith replied, and got up smiling. ‘This is Marion Zylstra – and her husband Ed. Our neighbors the Johnsons.’

‘How do you do?’ said Gert.

‘Howdy do?’ from Norman.

‘Heard a lot about you,’ Marion said.

‘And Derek,’ Edith continued.

‘Evening,’ said Derek.

‘Boy’s just had three glasses of punch and he’s as oiled as we are,’ Norm said. His tasseled scarf hung nearly to the floor, and there was a hole in the toe of one of his socks. ‘Hee-
yappy
Christmas!’

‘Same to you!’ Brett replied, and at that moment he and the rest heard the drone of an ambulance siren.

‘Jesus, what a time for a car accident,’ Norm said. ‘Or maybe somebody’s reenacting Washington crossing the Delaware —’ Norm broke off, stifled by laughter.

‘You know some of these idiots around here,’ Gert began cheerfully to Marion, ‘get into a rowboat Christmas Eve and fall in. Our town’s called Washington Crossing, where he crossed on Christmas Eve to surprise the British at Trenton. Maybe —’

‘Let’s have the date, mom!’ said Derek. ‘Seventeen —’

The doorbell rang.

Gert set her two packages down on the floor under the tree. ‘God bless!’

‘Cliffie just jumped in the river,’ Brett said, more or less to Gert.

‘Huh?’ said Norm.

Brett went to the door.

Gert was listening, and Edith said, ‘It’s true, Cliffie jumped off the bridge – and the hospital’s just bringing him home.’

Norm looked at her blankly.

Derek took it in, Edith saw from his face.

‘I hope he didn’t hit any rocks,’ Derek said.

‘Come in,’ Brett said to someone at the door.

A tall redheaded young man came in with Cliffie in his arms. Cliffie was swathed in blankets. A second intern followed, ready to lend assistance. Marion got up from the sofa.

‘He’s all right. They thought since it’s Christmas Eve —’ said the man carrying Cliffie.

‘Put him on the sofa,’ Brett said. ‘Or does he have to —’

‘How you doing, Cliffie?’ asked George, who was still seated on the sofa.

Cliffie looked quite alert, was even smiling, but he didn’t say anything. The intern installed him in a corner of the sofa, setting Cliffie upright.

‘You’re all right, Cliffie?’ Edith asked, bending over him. ‘Where’s your hand?’ She had extended her hand. Cliffie was wrapped like a papoose. As soon as she thought this, she heard Gert saying: