Night Swimmers (2 page)

Retta finished making the sandwich, set it on top of a glass of milk, and carried it into her brothers’ bedroom. “No Kool-Aid,” she said firmly as she handed the sandwich and milk to Roy.

“Thank you.” Roy was polite when it came to food. He said “please” and “thank you” without even knowing he was saying the words. In kindergarten he never had to be reminded by Miss Elizabeth, “Now, what do you say to Mrs. Hartley for the cupcakes?” because he gasped out, “Thank you,” at the first glimpse of a white bakery box.

He turned his sandwich carefully, like a dog circling a bone. When he made his decision and took his first bite, an expression of contentment came over his face.

As usual, he began to eat the crust of the bread first. He nibbled around the sandwich, trying to be dainty. He believed that you got more if you ate daintily.

Retta leaned against the chest of drawers, watching him work his way around his sandwich. Just when he finished the last of the crust and was ready to sink his teeth into the peanut butter and banana, she said, “But, tomorrow, Roy, I’m putting you on a diet.”

He was so startled that he almost dropped his sandwich. He looked at her. In the soft bread remained the horseshoe print of his teeth. “What?”

“I’m putting you on a diet tomorrow.”

“Why?” It was a cry of pain. “I’m not fat.”

“You have to wear Chubbies now. Before long you’ll be in Huskies.”

“I won’t!”

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“I won’t be in Huskies. I promise!”

“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” Retta said in the mature voice she had gotten from TV mothers.

“I promise I promise I promise—” He went up on his knees in a beggar’s position. “I promise I promise I—”

“Will you shut up and lie still?” Johnny rose up on one elbow and gave Roy a look of disgust and anger. “I’m trying to sleep!”

“Well, I’m not going on a diet no matter what!” To emphasize his point he began to take huge bites of his sandwich, gnawing at the bread like an animal, poking stray bananas into his mouth with his finger. When his mouth was completely filled, a solid mass of banana, peanut butter, and bread, he folded his arms over his chest. He stared defiantly at Retta. He smacked. He chewed. He kept on working his jaws long after the sandwich had been eaten.

Then he sat, arms folded, staring at Retta. “Drink your milk,” she said.

He drank it without pausing, eyes always on Retta.

“Now, good night,” she said.

“Good night,
Lo
retta,” he called after her, wanting to hurt her and knowing how much she hated to be called by her full name. She alone resented that she had been named for a country singer.
“Lo
retta
Lynn!”

She turned. “Good night, Roy
Acuff!”

“Lo
retta Lynn!”

“Roy Acuff!”

“Shut up!”
Johnny yelled. He sat up in bed and glowered at them both.

Roy lay down. “Johnny Cash,” he said, just mouthing the words, silently taunting his brother.

He smoothed the covers over his stomach. It was nights like these, he thought, when he missed his mother most. Suddenly Roy imagined her coming into his room in one of her country-western outfits, the white satin one with the sequined guitars on the skirt.

In the daytime he could never remember what his mother looked like and stared at her photographs in vain. But on lonely nights he could remember every detail. Tonight she surprised him by bringing with her a tray full of tiny cakes with lighted candles on top. She was still coming to his bed, smiling, when he fell asleep.

In the living room Retta was sitting on the sofa. She picked up the evening paper. Usually she went through the paper at night to check for possible outings. She circled them in Magic Marker, things like free Cokes at McDonald’s, a wedding reception at the Catholic church.

Tonight, however, she had no interest in such minor events. Now she had the pool. And it was only five blocks away—that was the best part—just on the other side of the park.

Tomorrow, she thought, I’ll get some inner tubes at the filling station. Suddenly she sat up straighter. And bathing suits! I’ll get us bathing suits!

The picture of them crossing the colonel’s lawn in bright new bathing suits was so clear, so beautiful, that she was determined to make it real.

She got up and went into the kitchen. Her father kept household money in the breadbox. She opened the lid and counted. Seven dollars and thirty-nine cents. She would need at least—she paused, estimating—at least seventeen dollars.

She left the kitchen. As she passed her brothers’ room, she glanced in. The boys were both asleep: Johnny, a long, thin line under the sheet; Roy, a round ball.

“We,” she told them quietly, “are going to have inner tubes
and
bathing suits.” And she went into her room feeling as satisfied as if they already had them.

I
T WAS TEN O’CLOCK
in the morning, and it was raining, a hard, solid rain, the kind that could go on for days unless the wind shifted and the southwest weather moved in.

Retta sat on the top step of the porch, eating a piece of toast. She finished, licked her fingers, got up, and went slowly into the house. She eased the screen door shut behind her. Her father was asleep in the front bedroom, and he did not like to be awakened by slamming doors, loud television, or shouting children.

She stood for a moment in the doorway. The living room was a mess. The furniture was faded and worn. Newspapers and letters, some crumbled into fist-sized balls, lay on the rugless floor. The corner with the plastic leather armchair, her father’s corner, was littered with plates piled with cigarette butts, half-filled coffee cups, and empty beer cans.

Retta was beginning to realize what a mess the house was, but she didn’t know what to do about it. “We need a vacuum cleaner,” she decided suddenly and felt better. She sat on the floor, cross-legged, and began to leaf through the newspaper.

“What are we going to do today?” Roy asked. He was standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He was happy because there had been no further mention of diets. Retta had even fixed his favorite, peanut butter toast, for breakfast. He pulled his jeans up higher on his hips and walked into the room.

“I’m looking for possibilities now,” she said. She paused to work out her horoscope.

“We can’t go swimming tonight because it’s raining.”

“I know that.”

“So what are we going to do? I want to
do
something.” He forgot his good fortune about the diet and broke into a whine.

“What you’re going to do, if you don’t shut up, is wake Dad and you’ll be very,
very
sorry.”

“But what are we going to
do?”
he whispered.

“Maybe we’ll go to Sears and play TV Ping-Pong.”

“The salesman’s too mean.”

“We’ll wait till he’s on his coffee break or something. Is Johnny up?”

“I’ll wake him.”

Roy loved to wake people. He had his own method, which he considered kind and considerate. He simply breathed on them until they opened their eyes. He hurried from the room, the legs of his jeans brushing together as he ran.

He went into the bedroom and leaned on the bed. It sank with the pressure of his elbows. He bent over Johnny.

Johnny stirred with irritation. “Get away from me,” he said without opening his eyes.

“It’s me—Roy.”

“I know it’s you, peanut butter breath,” Johnny snarled. He turned over. “Now get off my bed.”

“It’s my bed too!”

Roy hesitated. He was disappointed. He remained with his elbows on the bed, staring at Johnny’s back. A breeze blew in the window, and Roy glanced over at the billowing curtains. A heavy, sweet smell filled the room.

The Bowlwater plant, Roy thought. His frown disappeared. A slight smile came over his face.

To Roy, the Bowlwater plant was the most enormous bush in the world, something out of “Jack and the Beanstalk.” Any plant that could produce such a strong, fascinating smell, a smell Roy associated with the Orient,
that
plant had to have leaves as big as bed sheets and flowers like tubas. No one had ever explained to Roy that the Bowlwater plant was a factory that made chemicals, and when the wind blew from the southwest, it brought the smell of chemicals with it.

Roy’s ambition was to see the Bowlwater plant, climb on it, slide down the leaves, and later—when he got a piece of paper big enough—to draw a picture of it.

He looked at Johnny again. He said, “Want to smell the Bowlwater plant? Open your eyes and you can.” He spoke in the voice he used in kindergarten when Miss Elizabeth said, “Let’s use our
indoor
voices, boys and girls.”

Johnny yanked the sheet up over his head. He flopped over, writhing with irritation.

Roy was irritated too. He abandoned his gentle methods. He said, “You better get up if you want to go with me and Retta.” He stood up and waited, hands on hips.

“Where are you going?” Johnny asked without removing the sheet.

“We’re going to Sears and play TV Ping-Pong.”

“Go ahead.”

“All right, we just will.” He started from the room. “But don’t blame me if
we
have a good time and
you
don’t.”

“Get out of here.”

“I’m going. I just don’t want you to blame me if—”

“Get
out!”

Roy was discontent. Even the mysterious scent of the Bowlwater plant could not soothe him now. “He won’t get up,” he told Retta. He waited in the doorway, watching Retta hopefully.

Retta had always been his daytime mother. Even when his real mother was alive, it had been Retta who looked after him. He admired her most when she acted like the mothers he saw in grocery stores, mothers who shook their kids and said things like, “You touch another can, and I’ll can
you!” That
was mothering.

He wanted Retta to put her maternal skills to use now. He wanted her to pull Johnny out of the bed by his ear. “You’ll play Ping-Pong or I’ll Ping-Pong you!”

Retta remained on the floor. She began to tear a coupon from the newspaper. “Hey, there’s a merry-go-round at the mall. With this,” she waved the coupon in the air, “and a sales slip from Murphy’s you can ride free.”

“But do we have a sales slip?” Roy took two steps into the room.

“We’ll fish one out of the trash can, if we have to.”

Roy’s excitement rose. “Let’s don’t tell Johnny, all right? And when we get home you can say, ‘Listen, you wouldn’t get up when Roy called you,’ and he’ll say, ‘I didn’t know there was a merry-go-round,’ and you can say—”

“Come on. The rain’s stopping.”

They walked out the door and paused on the top step. Roy inhaled deeply. “I smell the Bowlwater plant,” he told Retta. Visions of the plant rose again in his mind, the trumpetlike blossoms blowing out odor like music. “Can you walk to the Bowlwater plant?” he asked.

“No, it’s too far.”

“Can you go on the bus?”

“I think so.”

“Someday,” he promised himself, “I’m going there.”

J
OHNNY LAY IN BED
. He heard the front door slam, and he threw back the sheet as if he were going to get up and run after Roy and Retta. Instead he lay staring up at the ceiling.

He felt a deep resentment at Retta and Roy for going off without him. Even though he had said he didn’t want to go, they should have begged him. The thought that if he hurried he could still catch them made him even angrier.

He got up slowly and walked into the living room. He could see Retta and Roy waiting at the edge of the porch. “I thought you’d gone,” he said, drawing his mouth into a sneer.

Retta turned. “The rain’s stopped. You want to come to the mall with us? There’s a merry-go-round.”

“But we’ve only got
one
coupon,” Roy said importantly. “So only one of us gets to ride and that’s me, isn’t that right, Retta?”

“We can get another coupon if—”

“Only
babies
ride on merry-go-rounds,” Johnny said.

Roy’s mouth fell open. He was stung by the insult. He turned to Retta. “That’s not true, is it? He’s just saying that, isn’t he, because he doesn’t have a coupon and I do?”

Johnny started into the kitchen. He was aware that Roy was probably making a face at him through the screen door but he did not turn around.

“We’ll be back soon,” Retta called.

“I don’t care if you never come back,” Johnny grumbled. He opened the refrigerator door, took out the milk, and drank directly from the carton, something Retta did not allow them to do. Then he walked into his father’s room.

He looked down at his father. Shorty Anderson was lying on the bed in his underwear. There was a faint smile on his face.

“Dad?”

Shorty Anderson did not move. He was half asleep and he was dreaming about the new song he had written and recorded the week before. It was called “You’re Fifty Pounds Too Much Woman for Me.” In his dream he was singing the chorus at the Grand Ole Opry. “When you get eatin’ off of your mind, I’ll get cheatin’ off of mine. I don’t want no extry woman in my aaaaaaarms,” he sang to himself.

“Dad?”

Shorty Anderson heard Johnny’s voice, and the Grand Ole Opry began to fade away. He was not there on the stage in a red satin cowboy shirt with the lights picking up the glitter of the rhinestones. He was here in bed in his dirty underwear. He let the air out of his lungs in a long sigh.

“What’s wrong?” he asked without opening his eyes. Usually he played a game when the kids came into his room in which he pretended to get their voices mixed up. Roy would become so agitated when his voice was mistaken for Retta’s that he would pry his father’s eyes open to prove his identity. Shorty Anderson wasn’t up to games this morning.

“Nothing,” Johnny said. “I was just wondering if you were going to get up.”

“In a little bit.”

Johnny continued to stand beside his father’s bed. “Retta and Roy went to the mall.”

“They did?” Shorty Anderson said without interest.

“Yes, they didn’t want me.” Despite Johnny’s efforts to keep his voice normal, a tremor of self-pity ruined the sentence.

“They wanted you.”