Machine Dreams (23 page)

Now the screen door banged and Danner felt Katie behind
her. Katie sat down and leaned forward; the swing moved to touch Danner’s shoulder.

“Danner, you can’t see the parade sitting down so low. Want to sit up beside me?”

“No, it’s cool here, and you can reach me better.”

Katie lifted Danner’s hair as though weighing it in her hand. “Tires you out to see so many colors, doesn’t it.”

“You mean the parade?”

“Yes, to see so much at once, going by and going by.” She combed Danner’s hair with her fingers first, to keep the comb from pulling. “I remember the very first festival, in 1949. I think Jean was pregnant with you then; you were going to be born soon. I was—what, thirteen? Just the parade then, much smaller, and a shortcake supper at the firehouse.”

“Why do they call it the Strawberry Festival?” Danner sat still as Katie parted her hair down the middle; Katie always stroked the hair apart, petting it into place with strong downward strokes of her wrists.

“They had to call it something,” Katie said, “and there have always been big berry crops around Bellington. There were weeks when the berries rotted in baskets before the farmers could sell them. Big baskets they would nearly give away. And when the berries had gone dark and soft, the men made wine. The wine was so light and fragile-tasting, no one valued it much. It was like leftovers, can you imagine?”

“Did you ever drink it?”

“No, they wouldn’t let me drink anything like that.” She laughed. “I had to drink egg nogs, and raw milk with vitamin tonic.”

Recorded music suddenly blared.
O beautiful for patriot dream
; the VFW float was going by. A huge round globe turned on a gold foil axis; the globe was solidly, darkly blue except for a red- and white-striped America on one side. The globe trembled as the float moved, crepe rosettes of the colors ruffling.

“Isn’t it pretty?” Katie rested her hands on Danner’s back. “Looks unfinished, with no people on it.”

“But the empty floats are some of the best ones.” Danner felt Katie fasten one braid and begin the second.

“I hear you and Billy are going to the pool dance tonight.”

“Well, it’s not exactly a dance. You don’t have to have a date—it’s more of a group activity.” Katie didn’t have children and her ideas of what they could do seemed liberal to Danner.

“Oh,” Katie said. “Is it Billy’s first dance?”

“I guess so, except for those church parties. But I’m sure he won’t dance. I mean people can swim in the pool or just hang around. Billy doesn’t care about dances—he’s just waiting for the air show tomorrow. He’s been riding his bike out to the airport every morning to look at the planes.”

“I see.” Katie began running the comb through Danner’s tangled hair. Danner hardly ever used a comb, but somehow Katie did it quickly and lightly, pushing with her cool hands on Danner’s scalp. “You should never take a brush to your hair, it’s so fine and soft.”

“It’s terrible hair.”

“Danner, it isn’t, and it’s a lovely color.” Quickly she braided the other plait, holding Danner’s head against her knees and sectioning long pieces. “I’m making them tight, to last. You’ll squeak when you blink.”

Danner leaned her full weight against Katie and closed her eyes. The white hands in her hair moved light and hard, fast. “Feels like you could pull my eyes wide open,” Danner said.

“All the better,” Katie said softly.

The bands sounded farther away and people on the street were a continuous, restful hum. The yelling and shouting were only sound; even the line of chairs, when Danner looked, seemed foreign. Danner watched her mother’s back, the familiar set of Jean’s shoulders. Mitch was farther down the row with Doc Reb Jonas and Uncle Twist, Katie’s brother. All three men stood with their arms crossed, in shirt sleeves. Twister was gaunt and thin and gray and drank bourbon even in his iced tea.

“Do you like dances?” Katie’s voice was startlingly close against the other faraway noises. She had leaned down to pull the crown hair tight, and Danner felt her breath, a silvery tickling.

“They’re all right,” Danner said.

“You know, your father used to dance with me when I was
your age and a little younger. He seemed like a giant then. He was a wonderful dancer.”

“He was?” Danner supposed she should be quiet. “He sure gets mad easy now.”

“Does he?” Katie looked out toward the street. “Yes, I suppose he does.”

Danner said nothing.

“There,” Katie said. She leaned over Danner from above, picked up the hand mirror and held it, keeping her face close beside Danner’s so that both images were reflected in the glass. “Let’s see if we look alike,” she said.

Far off, sirens wailed, marking the end of the parade. Danner looked into the mirror. “I don’t think so,” she breathed.

“Look closer. Hold the mirror.” Danner took the wide handle of the mirror and Katie lifted both hands. Forefingers touching where their faces met, she drew one cool finger across Danner’s brow, one across her own. “Here,” she said, “we’re the same.”

The strawberries were ripe and juicy and left a pink tinge on Danner’s fingers. She sat on the edge of the concrete patio with Gladys and Jean while Mitch stood at the far side of the yard, pouring charcoal briquets into the barbecue. The fields around the house were still brightly yellow in the sun of the late afternoon, but the grasses had begun to move and show their pale undersides; later it might rain. Danner and Jean held the bowls of berries and capped them with small knives. Danner moved her knife automatically and watched Billy ride his bike at the far perimeters of the lawn; he rode around and around, the silver fenders of the bike shining. Every time he made the hill past the barbecue, he stood to pedal and moved by with a blast of sound; he’d taken Danner’s transistor radio and hung it from the handlebars. The volume was turned way up and strains of Top 40 songs twisted in the air.

“Billy’s got my radio,” Danner told Jean.

Gladys looked up from the bowl of beans she held. “He won’t hurt it, unless he wrecks and hurts himself, and then you’ll feel justified.”

“He went in my room and took it, Mom.” Danner heard
strains she almost recognized as Billy disappeared around the front of the house; the songs, high wails, seemed to drift behind him.

Gladys and Jean ignored Danner; they were discussing Katie. Katie couldn’t get pregnant.

“She’s strung too tight, that’s why.” Gladys broke the beans with a snap. “She looks half-starved, like she’d break in half doing what’s necessary.”

“I don’t know what that would be,” Jean said. “All I ever had to do was lie there.”

“Not so. It has to do with a state of mind.”

“Gladys, that’s ridiculous. I got pregnant so easy—all he ever had to do was look at me.”

Danner imagined Mitch looking. In the home movies there were always a few dim frames of his face as he held the movie camera in his hands and pondered it, filming himself as he pushed the wrong button. His head filled the frame, lit on one side by tentative light. In the fish-eye view of the camera, his broad forehead curved in near darkness like the smooth plain of an awesome, lonely planet. His chin, his nose, all the features of his face, became a strange, enlarged geography. His eyes were nearly closed as he peered down, his expression wondering.

“Exactly,” Gladys told Jean, “he looked at you.”

“Oh, Gladys. People don’t have to be happy together for the woman to get pregnant.”

“Not saying they have to be happy. Happens faster lots of times if couples don’t get along. It’s a state of mind in the woman before the man even touches her.”

“So men have nothing to do with it?” Jean arched her brows at Danner to signal that this was another of Gladys’ nutty conversations.

“Sure they do.” Gladys looked unconcerned and shook the pot of strung beans. The beans rattled and she smoothed them level with her hand.

Jean smiled. “I hope you’re listening to this, Danner. Gladys is going to tell you her version of what makes women pregnant.”

“What?” Danner asked.

Gladys leaned closer. “Desperation,” she said, “suddenly satisfied.”
She held up her hand for silence as Jean began to laugh. “Not always desperation for children—could be desperation about something else. But for a few minutes, the desperation is gone, and that’s when women get pregnant.
After
they do what’s necessary, of course.” Gladys nodded once, decisively.

“Most people don’t have any trouble getting pregnant,” Jean said. “It’s hard to believe so many people are desperate.”

“Almost everyone is desperate,” Gladys said. “Katie is desperate, too. But a hard case like Katie has to have exactly what she
needs
—” Gladys paused for emphasis “—to forget what she
wants
, and have her desperation satisfied.”

“Well, what does she want?” Danner asked.

“Something else besides what she has,” Gladys answered.

“But that’s human nature, Gladys,” Jean said. “Everyone wants what they don’t have.”

“Not as bad as Katie does.”

“Gladys,” Jean said sarcastically, “maybe you’d better have a talk with Katie right away.”

“Not me. You can’t talk to a hard case.” Gladys placed the bowl of beans in her lap with deliberation, pleased with herself.

“What do you mean by ‘satisfied?’ ” Danner sat hugging her knees, gazing down the expanse of lawn to the fence. Billy was rounding the bottom boundary of the grass, pedaling evenly. The whispering radio swung, veering its music closer in a shimmered falsetto:
in the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight©.
The high-pitched words were not loud across the distance, but carried audibly; Billy passed the flaming barbecue in a stop-time and moved out of sight as a shuffled
wee mah wettah, wee mah wettah
faded with him.

“And they call that music,” Gladys said, brushing at the front of her skirt. “As for
satisfied
, I’m not saying people
stay
satisfied. You’d be crazy to stay satisfied in this life.”

“I’ll sugar these berries,” Jean said, and she took Danner’s bowl. “Danner, go ask your dad what time we’ll eat.”

“Jean and Gladys will just have to wait. These coals are still burning down.” Mitch held the clean grill of the barbecue in one hand and looked into the fire.

“How long does it take?” Danner asked, studying the heat. She stared into the coals as the fire flickered in jagged orange pieces, then disappeared. The briquets glimmered, disintegrating slowly, each piece growing a white ashen fur that looked as though it would be soft to the touch. How could he have danced with Katie? Danner’s eyes burned from looking at the warmth.

“Stand back a little,” her father said gently, and touched her shoulder.

Danner moved back as music approached, and she saw Billy riding fast across the bottom of the lawn. “Daddy, I want my radio. Will you tell Billy to stop and give it to me?”

“I don’t know if he can stop, Miss. He’s glued to that bicycle.” But he put the grill down and walked a bit to the side, gesturing to Billy. He wore his khaki work clothes when he cooked on the barbecue; from behind he looked big and blockish, and Billy swerved near him, showing off. Mitch walked back toward Danner, shaking his head good-naturedly as Billy stopped.

“You shouldn’t go in my room unless you ask,” Danner said loudly.

Billy kicked the kickstand down in the soft grass and tilted the bike at a safe angle as the radio swung perilously; Billy caught it as it dropped from the handlebars, and he turned the volume down. “You know you go in my room,” he said. His white T-shirt was stretched and grass-stained; he was sweaty and smelled of grass. His lips were slightly swollen and his eyes teary; every spring he had allergies that lasted into summer.

“You’re better off if he keeps that radio,” Mitch said to Danner. “Doc Reb tells me that crap they play is bad for your mind.”

“I’m not hurting her radio,” Billy said, walking close. “How could I hurt it?”

“Give your sister the radio.” Mitch reached out and took it, then tousled Billy’s hair. “You need yourself a crewcut. Hungry?”

Billy nodded. “Why can’t I have my own radio?”

“You could have had,” Danner said. “You asked for a new bike instead.” She opened her palm for the radio, then held it close to her ear and shook it. She turned it off and on. “So don’t complain,” she said softly.

Billy moved next to her. “Can I give her a little shove?” he asked Mitch.

“You give her a shove and I’ll give you a crack on the head. You don’t horse around near these hot coals. How many times do I have to tell you?” He frowned and shifted his weight, holding the long meat fork.

“You have to tell him one hundred times, for one hundred years.” Danner held the radio to Billy’s cheek. “You have to tell him from an airplane.”

“I’m talking to both of you,” Mitch said. “Billy, put your bike away and go wash up. And I don’t want you riding out to the airport again tomorrow. It’ll be busy before the show.”

“But the air show isn’t until afternoon,” Billy said, his hands in his pockets.

“They don’t want kids out there. Reb said they’ve had break-ins at the hangar, and they’ve hired a guard till the festival’s over. You stay away from the airport.”

Billy looked at the fire a moment, then turned and walked toward the house. Danner and Mitch were silent until he was out of earshot; then Mitch said quietly, “You put the bike away.”

“Okay.”

He fastened the grill to the barbecue, turning it with the tines of the fork. “How old will you be at the end of this summer, Miss? Fourteen?”

Danner stood watching his heavy face through the curtain of heat. “Yes, fourteen.”

“Don’t seem possible,” he said. “Pretty soon you’ll be fifty-three and won’t know where the time went.”

“I guess so,” Danner said. She knew he was sorry about getting mad over the dress. She wished Jean had listened to her and taken it back.

“Well.” He stuck the fork through the rings of the grill so it stayed fast, then bent to close the sack of charcoal. “Tell your mother it’ll be twenty minutes, and Gladys should bring the meat out now.”

“I will. I’m just going to take the bike, and put my radio in my room.”