Now and on Earth (10 page)

"My sister," I said; and I added, "She's married."

"She and her husband live here with you?"

"She does."

"Oh," he said. "Look, Murphy," he said, "why don't you carry Dilly back and forth to work? It's not much out of your way. You'd help out on the gas, wouldn't you, Dilly?"

"I'd be glad to," I said. "I don't know just what you would have to have, but I could give you a dollar a week, Murphy."

"All right," he said.

"I don't want to force myself on you-"

"It'll be all right, Dilly," said Moon. And they drove off.

And it does seem to be all right. Murphy just doesn't have a whole lot to say. That is, most of the time he doesn't. I've learned that he originally came to the plant as a draughtsman and that he used to be a lightweight fighter; and he told me the story about Moon trying to get fired. But he's a moody cuss, and you get the impression that he'll be glad to leave you alone for the same kind of favor.

Or maybe that's just my imagination. I'm always going around reading things into people and their actions which are nonexistent.

At any rate, I do have a ride and it makes things much more pleasant than they were. That walk up the hill was getting me down. I haven't said much lately about being sick, because there's nothing new about it and it can't be helped; but I'm-I don't think I'm getting any better.

I get through the mornings pretty well, but along about one o'clock my body seems to increase in weight, and from then until three- thirty I have to fight to keep from dropping down on the floor and stretching out. I'm not sleepy; it's been a long time since I was. I just want to rest.

Tonight was Saturday, and I had intended going down to the library to get a book or two on blue-print reading. I need to know blue- print reading in my work. Well, I made my intentions known to the family, and everyone-that is, Mom, Roberta, and Frankie-discussed the matter and decided it would be all right for me to go. It is absolutely fantastic the debates that can be held over such a thing as my going over to the drugstore after a package of cigarettes. It isn't that they don't want me to go; they simply have to discuss it. And if I don't wait until the discussion is over, someone is hurt. It is crazy but that's the way it is.

If! go without waiting, I'll discover when I return that Mom wanted a spool of black thread, Number 50 ("but, oh no, don't go back after it"); or Roberta would have gone along if I'd just waited until she got her hair combed ("but I've been in the house all week, one more night won't kill me"); or Frankie will remember that if I'd just waited until five minutes after eight there was a place down the street where I could have got a free quart of beer with my fags ("I knew there was something I wanted to tell you, Jimmie").

I've always-the last couple years, at least-had to furnish Roberta with my itinerary and a timetable when I stepped out. But that's aside from and in addition to the debates.

But they decided I could go, and I got cleaned up so that I'd be ready to leave right after supper. If you don't get down to the library early on Saturday, it's hard to get waited on. Besides, I was afraid if I hung around too long there'd be an argument of some kind and I never would get there.

Jo was down the street somewhere practicing a play- she's always practicing with half a dozen groups-and she didn't come home until the meal was almost over. That irritated Roberta; her nerves have been worse than usual, anyway, what with Mack and Shannon glumly refusing food, sitting side by side in their chairs as listless as two statues.

Jo squeezed my hand and patted me on the shoulder before she sat down.

"Gee, you look nice, Daddy. Going some place?"

"Just to the library," I said.

"By the way, Jimmie," said Roberta, "pick me out a good mystery, will you? Something by-well, you know, something good."

"All right," I said.

Roberta looked at Jo and her nostrils started to tremble. "Now what are you snickering about? What did I say that was so funny? Answer me!"

"Why I wasn't laughing, Mother," said Jo, innocently. "May I go to the library with Daddy?"

"No, you can't. What do you want to go for, anyway?"

"There's a book I want. It's about early Elizabethan costumes. I really need it, Mother."

"Your daddy will bring it to you."

"But I don't know the name of it. I don't know what to tell him. I have to go down and pick it out myself."

Roberta finished a mouthful while Jo waited anxiously.

"May I, Mother?"

"Do you know your catechism?"

"Oh, of course!"

"Jo!"

"Well, I just said of course."

"For God-let her go, Roberta," I said. "What difference does it make?"

"She can go," said Roberta. "Just as soon as I hear her catechism."

Jo brightened. "Right now, Mother? I'm really not hungry. You can hear-"

"I'll hear it when I get ready to hear it and not one minute before. We're not running this house for your benefit."

I said, "Let her go, honey. She can recite her catechism when she gets back."

"Why don't you, Roberta," Frankie put in. "After we get 'em out of the way, you and I'll step out and get a coke."

Roberta didn't say anything.

"Well, I'm sorry, Jo," I said, "but I'm going to have to leave as soon as I finish eating. Perhaps you can go some other time."

"I need to go tonight," said Jo. "You ought to make Mother let me go."

Well, I should have. She was right. But-

Roberta laid down her fork. "Jo Dillon," she said, "just one more word out of you and I'll slap you to sleep."

Jo got up and started to leave the table.

"Excuse yourself," snapped Roberta.

"You told me not to say another word."

"Jo! Are you deliberately trying to get my-to make me mad?"

"No, Mother," said Jo. "Excuse me."

She gave me a peculiar lingering look which I could not interpret, but which, I know now, was meant as an apology for what was to follow. Then she went into the bedroom. When she came back, she was wearing a housecoat; and she had done something extraordinary with her hair and face. No-well, yes, she had been into the rouge and lipstick and bobby pins; but that didn't account for the change. It was the way she held herself, some alteration in expression. She looked, except for her size, a good ten years older. She looked very much like Roberta.

She sauntered over to the lounge and pulled the pillows off onto the floor.

"Now, what are you doing?" demanded Roberta.

"Why I'm just going to lie down," said Jo, looking at her levelly. "There's nothing wrong with lying on the floor, is there, Mother? Don't you think it's fun to lie on the floor, Mother?"

"Well," said Roberta. "Well, you be sure and put them back, now."

Jo lay down on her back with her knees in the air, and her housecoat fell down against the cushions, revealing that she had nothing on underneath.

"Jo," said Roberta, although not very severely. "Do you think that's-don't you want some pants on?"

"Ummm," said Jo, closing her eyes and rolling her body gently. "Ummm, Ooooh… uh, uh, uh… mmm."

"Jo," I said.

And Roberta said, "Jo, you get up from there this instant!"

Jo didn't get up. She knew that she would have to pay for this act of vengeance, and she intended getting her money's worth.

Roberta's face was fiery red, and she was shaking so that her chair creaked. Mom was looking-pretending to look-at her plate. Frankie was hiding behind a section of the evening paper, and, from the sound of things, slowly strangling.

And Jo-the Jo that was Roberta-kept on.

Fascinated, sick with shame, I watched the conclusion of the performance; thinking of the observations and study that lay back of it; of what a terrible thing it is to rear children in poverty and hatreds; how something that should have been beautiful and sweet to Jo must always be an indecent mockery.

She was on the small of her back, bottom upward, heels against her thighs.

And then Roberta had her. She grabbed her by the hair and dragged, hurled her against the wall. And she was screaming curses as she beat and kicked and slapped her all at once.

"You-you filthy little b-bastard! I'll kill you, you son-of-a-bitch, you you scum, you you GODDAM YOU I'LL KILL YOU! Do you hear me? I'LL KILL YOU! I will, I will, I will..!"

And I knew that she would kill her. And Jo was laughing so wildly that she could not fight back or get away.

I grabbed Roberta by the arms, but she had her hands tangled in Jo's hair, and I did not know what to do because she was so insanely angry that I was afraid she might literally yank Jo's scalp off. And, just to help out, Mom had to say that Jo deserved a good spanking.

"You just let Roberta spank her, Jimmie! The idea! A child doing a thing like that-"

And I lost my head, of course, and yelled goddammit, did she want the kid murdered? and if she couldn't do anything wouldn't she at least keep still.

So that brought Frankie into it. "Don't you talk to Mom that way, Jimmie! She doesn't have to take it from you or anyone else!"

"Well, you take it, then!" I yelled. "If you don't like it-"

Jo broke loose from Roberta. She ran between her legs, I believe, because Roberta fell forward and banged her head against the fireplace. Not hard enough to knock her out. Just enough to make her madder.

Jo got behind me and kept moving me around as Roberta fought to get at her. And Roberta seemed to think that I was holding her off, which I suppose I was, and she started slapping me and kicking me on the shins. And Mom and I and Frankie were all screaming at each other. And-well, I do think it was about the worst brawl we have ever had.

Then Shannon took a hand. Yes, Shannon. She wasn't listless any more. Far from it.

Before I knew what was happening, I'd been hit about sixteen solid punches in the groin. I think Jo caught it next-a slashing bite on the rump-but I can't be sure, because she and Roberta, who'd had her corns stamped on, yelled at the same time. And then Shannon started going around us like a cooper around a barrel.

"You goddam mama. You goddam Jo. You goddam daddy. Beat the hell outta you. Fix you all. Beat the-"

Mack came rushing in from the bathroom, carrying the toilet plunger. He knew his limitations in combat, knew that he needed a weapon. But Shannon was in so many places at once that he couldn't use it, so he kept proffering it to her.

"Heah, Shan'. Hit 'em wif a 'tick, Shan'!"

We got worn out.

Mack and Shannon discovered that they were hungry, and Mom had them go into the kitchen and stand on a chair by the stove so that they could supervise the scrambling of their eggs. I took Roberta into the bathroom and washed and bandaged her head, and made over her. And Jo came back and hugged us both and said she was sorry, and could she go to the library by herself? And Roberta said I think it'll be all right, don't you, Jimmie; and I said yes. Frankie hollered down the hall that she'd buy a quart of beer, and I hollered back get two and I'll pay for one. And Roberta hollered get some potato chips, too, Frankie, and I'll give you the money when you get back. And later on I told Mom I didn't know what I was saying, and she said, Oh, that's all right. So…

It is hideous when you think about it. A child-two children-sick without this insanity which is driving them insane. Lost and bewildered when it was withdrawn. Living in a malarial swamp and not daring to leave it… I think, perhaps, if we could catch them now, change their environment by gentle stages if necessary, something could be done. But we cannot do that.

Nothing is settled, you see. We have spent something tonight that we can never replace-that I, I know, cannot replace-and we have solved nothing. It is futile to hope that we ever will. One of us-I think any one of us-alone, might solve something. But he would have to be alone, be far away. If we were away, where the poisons in us could not be refreshed and restored daily, there might be a chance. Or if I could change things so magnificently that we could have separate rooms, a separate way of life, freedom of action without impinging upon others, so that we would not have to struggle against one another to preserve our own identities, so that we could become acquainted gradually as strangers should…

But-there's no chance of that either.

I was sitting in the dinette late tonight, typing, when Mack came through to get a drink of water. I'd worked three hours and I must have had all of thirty words-I, who used to knock out five thousand in a day.

He pulled a chair up to the sink, turned on the faucet, filled a glass, and drank it. Then he brought one to me.

"Saw a bitey inna hail," he said.

"Yeah?"

"Yop. Inna hall, Daddy." He waited. "Saw a bitey inna hall, Daddy."

I turned my head away.

"You sick, Daddy?"

"You'd better learn a new joke, boy," I said. "Better learn a lot of new jokes."

The first time I called at Roberta's house she and her mother were in the kitchen. Roberta let me in and whispered I'll be right with you, honey; and then she went back into the kitchen and I could hear her and her mother talking in low voices. I wanted to smoke, but I couldn't find an ashtray; I looked around for something to read and there wasn't anything. Not a newspaper, not a book or a magazine of any kind. I began to get nervous. I wondered what in the name of God they were talking about, whether the old lady was trying to talk her out of going out with me. Lois' mother hadn't been exactly fond of me either, and her father, who was in the School of Economics at the college, felt that Lois needed someone a little more stable. But it hadn't been like this…

There:

"My dear boy! Aren't you just frozen? Lois will be right down. She's had such a cold today; barely able to drag herself around. I don't suppose I could persuade you two to spend the evening here? The doctor and I are going out, and-goodness gracious! You're sneezing! Aren't you afraid that Lois will catch-?"

"It's nothing serious," I'd say. "Just t.b."

"Oh… now, you're teasing me, aren't you? By the way, I've a book you must take with you when you go. Dear, dear Willa! I do know you'll enjoy her. What sacrifices she must have made! What a lonely life she must have led!"

"Willa? Which Willa do you mean?"

"Why, Miss Cather!"

"Oh. I thought you were talking about the other one."