Now and on Earth (2 page)

"Oh, no," I said.

"What did you do mostly? Bookkeeping and typing?"

"Yeah," I said, "bookkeeping and typing." Then I lost my temper and told her what I really had done.

When I finished she said, "That's nice," and I knew she hadn't really heard a word.

"Eating out tonight, are we?" I asked.

"What?" said Mom. "Oh. Well, I don't know, Jimmie. I don't know what to do. Roberta went off to town and didn't leave any money or say what she wanted or anything. Jo hasn't had a bite to eat all day but a peanut butter sandwich. I haven't had anything either, but of course-"

"Let me have a dollar," I said. "I'll go get something. I'll pay you back as soon as Roberta gets here."

"I could have got something myself," Mom said. "But I didn't know what-"

"Just give me a dollar," I said. "I'll go get some potatoes and bread and meat. That's what we usually have."

Mom went and got a dollar. "I will have to have it back, Jimmie. Frankie has to get a permanent, and some new stockings, and we don't have a cent to spare."

"I'll pay it back," I said.

I saw it was almost six so I ran all the way to Safeways. The strongest butchers' union in the country is in San Diego. If you want fresh meat, you buy it before six. Otherwise you buy bacon, or lunchmeat-which is two-thirds cereal and a fourth water-or do without.

I reached the store at six sharp. I bought a pound and a half of lunchmeat-forty-five cents-some canned beans, and potato chips. I studied the wine counter a moment but decided I'd better not buy any, even if it was only fifteen cents for a short pint.

When I reached the corner, Roberta was just getting off the bus. Mack was asleep and she was carrying him. Shannon, for one of the few times in her life, was behaving herself.

Roberta said, "Hi, honey. Take this lummox, will you? I'm worn out."

I took Mack, and Roberta took the groceries. Shannon, with one of her lightning fast and unpredictable movements, leaped up and grabbed me by the elbow.

"Carry me, Daddy," she demanded. "You can't carry Mack unless you carry me."

"Go on," I said. "Go on. I can't carry both of you."

"Daddy's tired, Shannon," said Roberta. "Now stop swinging on him or I'll blister you. Why don't you show Daddy your new shoes? Show him how you can dance in them."

Shannon dropped loose, pirouetted, and was twenty feet down the sidewalk via a shuffle-off-to-Buffalo before I could take a deep breath. Shannon is four, but she is not as large as Mack who is eighteen months younger. She sleeps an average of seven hours a night, eats almost nothing, yet has more energy than either of the other children. One minute you see Shannon; the next she is three blocks away.

She posed for a moment, then, with her usual unpredictability, burst out with:

“My name is Samuel Hall, And I hate you one and all. God damn your eyes!”

"Shannon!" I said.

"Shannon!" said Roberta. "You get right straight home! Get! One more word out of you, and I'll blister you till you can't sit down."

Shannon took a notion to mind. She wasn't afraid, understand. I gave up long ago trying to do anything with her, and Roberta is beaten too, but won't admit it. Shannon is not disturbed by dark closets. She does not mind cold showers. You can't punish her by depriving her of a meal, because she'd as soon do without as not. You can't spank her because, ordinarily, you can't catch her. And, anyway, she is always hoping a little that you will try to spank her. You are then in the position of an aggressor, and she fights best when she has been attacked. And there is nothing she loves more than a good fight. The last time Roberta tried to spank her she-Roberta, not Shannon-had to go to bed. And while she was lying there, Shannon sneaked into the room and began beating her with a toy broom. It was all Mom and Frankie and I could do to pull her away.

Frankie exercises an occasional control over her by treating her with contempt. Mack's way is to catch her in an unguarded moment and to sit down on her. But neither Roberta nor I can do much with any method.

"How do you like your new job, honey?" said Roberta. "Have a hard day?"

"Not very," I said.

"What did you do?"

"Most of the day I went around on my hands and knees chipping up plaster."

Roberta stopped. "Wh-at?"

"Yes. They're building an extension to the plant, and a lot of plaster is scattered around the floor. I went around with a little thing like a cold chisel and chipped it up."

"But didn't you tell them-didn't they know-"

"They don't give a damn. They've not got any editorial work down there. They're building airplanes."

"But, couldn't they-"

"I don't know anything about airplanes."

Roberta started on, her mouth set in a tight line. "You're not going back," she said. "You just go down there in the morning and get whatever you've got coming, and tell 'em they can keep their old job."

"Thought of how we're going to eat? And-incidentally-pay rent?"

"Jimmie. The kids just had to have shoes. I know we're hard up, but-"

"Okay, okay. But how are we going to pay the rent? I suppose you told the landlady we'd have it at the end of the week?"

"Well," said Roberta, "we will, won't we? Don't you get paid on Friday?"

"O Jesus," I said. "O Christ and Mary. O God damn!" Roberta got red, and her nostrils trembled. "Now James Dillon! Don't you dare swear at me!"

"I'm not swearing. I'm praying for forbearance."

"And don't get smart, either."

"Dammit," I said, "how many times have I asked you not to talk about me getting smart? I'm not six years old."

"Well-you know what I mean."

"I don't know what you mean," I said. "I don't know half the time what you mean. Why don't you ever peek inside a dictionary? Can't you ever read anything besides the
Catholic Prayer Book
and
True Story
? Why, Jes- my God, honey… Oh, God! Don't cry out here on the street! Please don't. It seems like every time I open my mouth lately someone starts bawling."

She pushed on ahead of me into the house, letting the screen door slam in my face. Mom opened it for me.

"Now don't say anything," I said. "She'll be all right in a minute. Just don't pay any attention to her."

"I'm not saying anything," said Mom. "What difference would it make if I did? Can't people open their mouths around here any more?"

"Please, Mom."

"Oh, all right."

I put Mack down on the lounge and went back into the bedroom. Roberta had taken off her dress and hung it up, and was lying on the bed, hands over her face. I looked down at her and began to tingle. I knew how it was going to be, and I hated myself for it. But I couldn't help it. Roberta didn't need to do anything to win an argument with me but let me look at her. I knew it from the moment I saw her. She knew it after a few years.

I sat down and pulled her head into my lap. And she turned, so that her breasts pressed against my stomach.

I wish, I thought, that Mom could understand what Roberta means to me-why I am like I am with her. I wish Roberta could understand what Mom means to me. Maybe they do understand. Maybe that's why things are like they are.

I said, "I'm terribly sorry, honey. I'm just awfully tired, I guess."

"I'm tired, too," said Roberta. "It's certainly no fun to drag that Mack and Shannon around all day."

"I'm sure it isn't," I said.

"I am worn out, Jimmie. No fooling."

"That's too bad, dear. You've got to get more rest."

She allowed me to stroke her for a few moments; then she sat up brightly and pushed me away.

"And you're tired, too," she declared. "You've already said you were. Now you lie down while I help Mom get dinner."

She pulled an apron over her head, and I flopped back on the pillows.

"Give Mom a dollar," I said.

"What for?"

"For the groceries I got."

Roberta seemed to see the sack for the first time. "What'd you get that stuff for? We've got two pounds of beans up in the cupboard. Why didn't Mom cook them?"

"I don't know. I wasn't here."

"They were right there in the cupboard. She must have seen them."

"No harm done. We can eat them some other time. Now please go on and do whatever you have to do, and give Mom that dollar."

"I'll think about it," said Roberta.

Somehow I was on my feet, and the veins in my throat were choking me.

"
God damn it! Give Mom that dollar!"

Mom opened the door.

"Did someone call me?" she asked.

"No, Mom," I said. "I was just telling Roberta about supper-about the groceries. To give you the dollar I borrowed."

"Why, I don't need it," said Mom. "If you're short why don't you just keep it?"

"Oh, we've got plenty, Mom," said Roberta. "We've got all kinds of money. You just wait a minute."

She began fishing around in her purse, fetching out nickels, dimes, and pennies, and spreading them out on the dresser.

"Why don't you give her a dollar bill?" I said. "Now I'll have it for Mom in just a moment," said Roberta in a neat voice. "I'll get it, all righty… here you are, Mom. There's twenty. Twenty-five. Forty. Sixty. Eighty-three. Ninety-three. Oh, I guess I'm seven cents short. Do you mind if I give it to you tomorrow?"

"Just keep it all until some other time," said Mom. Roberta picked up the change. "You can have it now if you want it."

Mom went out.

I lay staring at Roberta in the mirror. She met my eyes for a moment, then looked away.

"How much were the groceries?"

"Seventy cents. I've got thirty cents left, if that's what you're driving at."

"I suppose you're going to buy something to drink with it?"

"I won't disappoint you. I'm going to get a quart of wine."

"You shouldn't, Jimmie. You know what the doctor told you."

"Death, where is thy sting?" I said.

Roberta went out, too.

Pretty soon Mack came toddling back, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There isn't an ounce of fat on him, but he's practically as broad as he is long.

"Hi, Daddy."

"Hi, boy. What's the good word?"

"Save-a money."

"What'd you do downtown? Ride an airplane?"

"Yop. Saw a bitey, too."

"A real honest-to-God bitey?"

"Yop."

"What'd he look like?"

Mack grinned. "Look like a bitey."

Then he went out. I have bitten on that joke of his a thousand times, but it is the only one he knows and I think a sense of humor should be encouraged.

Roberta shut herself up in the bedroom with the kids about nine, and Mom was busy in the bathroom working on her bunions. Frankie was still out, so I had the front room to myself. Not that I minded. I arranged a couple of chairs-one for my feet-just like I wanted them. Then I went around to the liquor store and bought my wine.

I thought the clerk was rather patronizing; but it could have been my imagination. Wine-drinkers aren't regarded very highly in California-not when they drink the kind of stuff I bought. The better California wines are largely exported. The cheaper ones, sold locally, are made of dregs, heavily fortified with raw alcohol.

In Los Angeles there are places where you can buy stiff drinks of this poison for two cents and a full pint for as little as six. And you can count as many as fifty addicts in a single block. "Wine-o-s," they are dubbed, and their lives are as short, fortunately, as they are unmerry. The jails and hospitals are filled with them always, undergoing the "cure." A nightly average of forty dead are picked up out of flophouses, jungles, and boxcars.

So-I got home, sat down with my feet up, and took a big slug. It tasted watery, but strong. I took another slug, and I didn't mind the taste. I was leaning back against the cushions, smoking and wiggling my toes and anticipating the next drink, when Frankie came in.

She made straight for the divan and took off her shoes. She is the big hearty perfectly composed type, the counterpart of Pop except for her blonde hair.

"Drunk again?" she inquired conversationally.

"Getting. Want a shot?"

"Not that stuff. I've already had three Scotches anyway. 'S'matter? Roberta?"

"Yes-no. Oh, I don't know," I said.

"Well," said Frankie. "I like Roberta, and I'm crazy about the kids. But I must say you're a fool. You're not being good to her. She doesn't like things like this any more than you do."

I took another drink. "By the way," I said. "When is your husband joining you?"

"I guess I asked for that," said Frankie.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm just feeling mean."