Such a Pretty Face (33 page)

But at least the secret was no longer a secret.

That was something.

I asked a chair a lot of questions that night:

Do you have any family secrets? What are they? How have they affected your life? What will happen if you talk about them? Is it better to talk about them or keep them buried? What are the consequences of both? Is it eating you?

I started painting the chair red. On the seat I painted a sunrise. I painted the legs with orange and yellow stripes. Later I would cut off the back and cut out a yellow ball for the sun for the backrest. I thought I’d carve out angel wings, too, and attach them.

Because don’t we all need an angel hanging around when we want to start over?

The chair’s name was Maybelle Swan.

I wished my insomnia would go away. It’s exhausting. I thought of Jake. When he had tucked me in I hadn’t had any nightmares at all. He was calling me every night to chat before we both went to sleep. It was a melody in my ear to hear him tell me good night.

But I still couldn’t sleep very well.

I had a nightmare that night. I saw my mother. She was wielding a cornstalk as one would a sword. “You shouldn’t have told!” she whispered. “You shouldn’t have told!”

I cringed in the cave. She followed me in and put the cornstalk through my heart, and I died.

Ashville, Oregon

T
he love of sisters can transcend the mountainous difficulties of life.

Herbert, Aunt Janet, Lance, and Polly visited us about a week after Helen got home from another mental ward. Aunt Janet wanted to see her sister and the baby, as did Lance and Polly.

Helen let Aunt Janet hug her. She actually put her arms around Aunt Janet and said to her, “You smell like corn. I like corn.”

Aunt Janet cried, and Helen wiped the tears from her face and licked them off her fingers. “All gone now,” she said. Then she tapped Aunt Janet on the nose and Aunt Janet hugged her again. “I love you so much, Helen.”

Helen nodded at Lance and Polly, the floppy yellow hat on her head bopping about. She was wearing a peasant’s dress from her time on Broadway and a flowing pink cape. “You are a boy and you are a girl,” she told them. “We have a Trash Heap here. Watch out.” She pointed at Sunshine, asleep in a crib. “She bites.”

Helen let Aunt Janet wash and condition her hair and even cut a few inches off where the knots had grown. She let Aunt Janet cut her scraggly fingernails and toenails. When we had dinner the next night, Helen looked so pretty. I’ve never forgotten it. Her hair shone, her makeup was perfect, her nails polished. She was wearing her pink tutu, but underneath it she had on an elegant green silk dress.

I noticed that Herbert stared at my momma for a long, long time at dinner.

In the middle of it, though, Herbert said, “Glory, more lasagna here.” He did not bother to glance up from his plate.

“It’s in the kitchen, Herbert,” Grandpa said.

Herbert glared at him. “Women should be pleased to serve the men in the household, Albert.”

“The women in this household are not required to serve the men. In fact, it is men, Herbert,
men
who should serve and protect women. It is the husband’s responsibility to make sure that his wife is happy, that she has a full life and the freedom to become whoever she wants to become.”

Herbert made a sound through his nose that said, essentially, “That’s asinine, you old man.” Then he said, “The man is the head of the house. All are to follow his lead, his rules, his direction, without question or dissent.”

“Yes, and if you want everyone to hate you, and you want to lose your relationship with your wife and with your children, be sure to continue insisting that your family follows your arcane, abusive rules. You’re going to end up alone, Herbert.”

He snorted again. “
My
wife knows her place.”

“I wish my daughter would find a new place,” Grandma said, trembling she was so mad. “Preferably one quite a long ways away from the place she’s in now.”

Helen decided to show off her poetry skills then. “Herbert Herbert. A herb. A Bert. A Bert Herb. A tiny stick, for a dick. A little man, a skinny thing thing, he’ll wind up playing with his bang bang.” She swirled her spaghetti noodles. No sauce. She was not eating red or pink food today so Grandma gave her plain noodles. “He has a mean voice. He has a mean heart. He’ll stick his thingie in your part.”

Aunt Janet gasped. Lance and Polly giggled.

Herbert swallowed hard and flushed bright red. “Control yourself, Helen—”

Helen threw her fork and it landed in the middle of Herbert’s plate, then skittered off into his lap, bringing lasagna with it. “He wants to be a big man but he’s not. He’s a little man with lots of snot. Hooked fat nose, loose jiggling bottom. Fingers like worms, a dick like cotton.”

“You crazy bitch—” Herbert started.

Oh, now, that was it for Grandpa. He grabbed Herbert under his shoulders, yanked him out of his seat, and dragged him to the front door, his feet barely touching the ground as he cursed and squirmed. We heard fighting outside, then Grandpa came in, by himself, and sat down. He bent his head, crossed his hands, and prayed. We crossed our hands and bent our heads, too. Grandpa’s prayer was, “Lord, help me to control myself around the Devil’s henchman. Amen.”

Grandma flicked back her white curls and said, “Lord, please do Your work as You see fit with an evil person who is short and who was sitting at my table a second ago. Perhaps he needs to meet You face-to-face soon. Just a suggestion. In Your son’s name I pray.”

Ten minutes later we heard Herbert honking the horn of his car. In a flash, Aunt Janet was up, flustered, hurriedly gathering up her things, tripping on her feet.

Lance cried, “We’re in trouble now!”

Polly whimpered, “Help me! Now we’re going to get it. Help!”

They all popped up, pushing back their chairs, in the middle of dinner. Lance’s chair tumbled over. Polly ran into the couch. I was aghast. No one left Grandma’s table in the middle of dinner!

Grandpa stood up. “You all stay right here. I’ll take care of this.”

Grandpa shut the front door of our Schoolhouse House and all of us scrambled to the window and peeked outside through the lace curtains. I thought Grandpa was going to talk sense into Herbert, who was sitting in the car, horn on full blast. He didn’t. Grandpa had something in his hand, a tool of some sort, and he used it to pry open the hood of the Cadillac, then reached under it.

Within a second the honking stopped. Grandpa slammed the hood back down and marched back up the steps, the porch light illuminating his angry expression. He threw the tool onto the porch.

When he came inside he sat down, calm and quiet, and said, “Please, Janet, Lance, and Polly, enjoy your lasagna. You will not be leaving at this time.”

Aunt Janet sunk down into her chair. Helen reached across the table, grabbed Aunt Janet’s hand, and said, “Get rid of that snake. If he was my snake, I’d cut his head off.”

Grandma patted Aunt Janet’s shoulder. “This situation can be remedied. I have already prayed about it, and God told me to tell you to divorce him. He said you will be much happier without him. I heard it loud and clear.”

Lance’s and Polly’s mouths dropped to huge O’s.

Aunt Janet hung her head, chin to buttoned-down blouse. Herbert made her dress so frumpy.

“Glory, this is delicious,” Grandpa said, smoothing over the awkward moment. “You are the best cook this side of the Mississippi.” He took another bite. “No, I’m wrong. You are the best cook on both sides of the Mississippi.”

Grandpa had another bite of lasagna. “Rats. I’m wrong a second time. You, Glory sweetie, are the best cook on both sides of the Mississippi, the entire North American continent, and in all of Europe, including Turkey. A country called Turkey,” Grandpa mused. “How come we don’t have a country called French Fries? We have a country called Chile. We need a country called Chocolate Milkshake.”

Polly giggled.

Grandma laughed, a curl falling into her face.

Lance grinned.

Even Aunt Janet smiled.

About twenty minutes later we heard Herbert pounding up the steps.

He bellowed for Aunt Janet and the kids to come outside right that damn minute and get in the damn car.

“Janet, Lance, and Polly, you are to stay right here,” Grandpa said as he opened the front door and stepped out. We all, even Helen, scrambled to the windows to see the action and got there in time to see Herbert punch Grandpa in the face.

Grandpa’s face didn’t even move, that’s how solid my grandpa was. But then Grandpa’s fist came up and Herbert went flying off the porch, landing on his buttocks.

That’s when Helen took charge. “I’m going to take care of that snake. He makes me booger mad.” She gave Aunt Janet a kiss on the lips and a hug, then stuffed three napkins into her bra and darted out through the kitchen door to the garage. About one minute later we saw Helen skipping from the garage, her pink tutu bopping about over her green silky dress.

She was carrying an ax.

We all scrambled out to the front porch.

When Herbert saw that ax, he got behind his Cadillac and shrieked, “Albert, get your crazy daughter away from me.”

Well, now, Grandpa apparently had no inclination to do so. As we watched the scenario unfold, he said, “Glory, I would get out there and try to control our daughter, but I am so full of your delicious lasagna, I cannot move. Might give me indigestion.” He patted his stomach.

Helen released a long, pitched Tarzan cry.

And Grandma said, “I understand, sweetheart.” She wrapped an arm around his waist. “The cheese was very heavy tonight. Oh, my goodness, I can barely move myself.”

Helen pointed the ax toward the sky with one hand and stuck her middle finger up at Herbert with the other. She yelled, “An ax and a booger and a bottom-faced man, I’ll cut you up and dump you in a can.”

“Here, I’ll call Helen back into the house.” Grandma cleared her throat once, twice, then whispered, “Helen, please come back inside, dear.”

Helen started swinging that ax around her head in a circular motion.

“You think of everything, Glory,” Grandpa said. “I’ll help you out.” He sighed, then whispered, “All right, fun’s over. Come on in, Helen.”

Helen shrieked, “I’m going to cut off your stick, snake!”

Aunt Janet and Polly and Lance were gaping, but after a second they started laughing, trying to muffle the sound with their hands over their mouths as Helen chased Herbert. I laughed, but I didn’t bother to cover my mouth. I cheered, “Go, Helen! Get the snake! Hiss hiss!”

Helen stopped running for a mere second, turned toward all of us out on the porch, and bowed, quite elegantly, tutu bopping. She continued chasing Herbert around his Cadillac, and when she couldn’t catch up, she smashed the ax into the hood of the car.

Herbert shouted in protest, and she sang, hitting a high C, “Snake, snake, slimy snake, I’ll cut off your head and make a cake!”

She swung the ax onto the trunk.

Herbert screamed and swore.

Grandpa stroked his stomach. “Still too full to move.”

“Cakes are good, cakes are bad, I’ll use your balls and not my dad’s,” Helen trilled out. She broke the front windshield. “Sugar, salt, and flour, I’ll have you chopped up within an hour.”

Herbert swore.

Grandma whispered, “I think we’re done, Helen. How about some pie?”

“You can say luck.” Helen’s soprano dipped into the soft darkness of the night. “You can say muck. You can say duck, but you can’t say fuck.” She brought the ax down on a door. “You fucker. You’re bad to my Janet.”

This went on for quite a while.

I was so entertained. “Good work with the rhymes, Momma!”

Aunt Janet giggled.

“Do you think she’ll kill him?” Lance asked.

“Maybe,” Polly said. Neither seemed concerned.

“It’s cherry pie, Helen,” Grandma whispered.

Eventually Herbert escaped into his car, screaming obscenities, and took off.

He went straight to the police.

Grandpa called Uncle Peter, the chief.

The chief arrested Herbert for assault against Grandpa.

That night, me, Polly, and Lance listened against the closed door of the den while Grandpa and Grandma told Aunt Janet to divorce Herbert. I heard the same arguments. Something about a man named Victor…. Herbert would declare her “unfit”…. Her alcohol problems…He would take the kids…. She had to protect them from him….

In the middle of it Helen walked in and declared, “Get rid of that snake! He poops the devil.”

For the next two weeks, Aunt Janet, Lance, and Polly were at our house. We all spent time with Sunshine. Polly, especially, loved Sunshine, loved holding her. We called her “our baby.”

At first they were nervous, all of them, jittery and unsmiling, as if they couldn’t get Herbert’s terrible aura off.

But then they let go of it, and we played in the stream, in the barn, on the property. We went to church, we made cookies, and we hung out with The Family.

When Herbert came back to get Aunt Janet, me and Polly and Lance had become blood brother and sisters.

I never forgot it.

Neither did they.

And, against my grandpa’s and grandma’s advice, Aunt Janet went back to Herbert, taking Lance and Polly with her, both crying.

We were careful with Sunshine around Helen. The baby’s crying sometimes made Helen run from the house. “Too noisy. A siren.” Her size made her nervous. “Too small,” she said. “She’ll break.” Her smell at times was not favorable, either. “Something is bad in that thing. A rotten egg or a skunk.” And the kicker: “They sent Trash Heap to watch me. I think she took my coat.”

She watched the baby from afar. Sometimes she’d wiggle her fingers in the air at Sunshine, her face intense, worried, confused. And sometimes Helen would wave at her. That was truly sad, Helen standing ten feet away and waving at her own child. When I saw her blowing Sunshine kisses as she lay in Grandma’s arms one time, but not coming near to hold her or hug her, I had to run outside to the garden and bury my head in my knees and cry by the carrots.

Even then, I got it. A mother, so whacked out by disease that she couldn’t have a relationship with her own child, was waving at her. “Hello, Trash Heap,” she called softly. “Hello, Trash Heap.” And then, “I don’t like you. You need to go home. Punk said bye. Get out. Good-bye.”

One fine day, when Grandma, me, Helen, and baby Sunshine were in the grocery store, Helen decided there were microphones in the bread loaves.

“Honey, there’s no microphones,” Grandma said. She put a calming hand on Helen’s arm. Helen was wearing her black rubber farm boots with the chicken wire and a trench coat over a lacy red negligee. On the way into the store she’d opened up her coat as if she was flashing people and sauntered on in, hips swaying.

“Yes, there are microphones,” Helen whispered. She had refused to button the trench coat. “They’re spying on me. They’re here to watch me. It’s a cushintong.”

“No, honey, they’re not spying. There’s no cushintong. It’s bread. Now, come on over with me and Stevie and let’s get a doughnut. You love doughnuts. Do you want a chocolate doughnut or a white sprinkled?”

But Helen was not to be dissuaded. Grandma had done up her blond hair into a bun and she ripped that bun down, her blond waves falling to her shoulders. She lunged for the shelves and started climbing them. Grandma reached for her and grabbed her around the waist. I grabbed at her boots. “Helen, come on, honey, let’s go have a delicious doughnut.”