“I cuh-closed my eyes and suh-said the Hail Mary. Listen, buh-boy, and you might learn suh-something:
Huh -huh -huh -Hail Mary, full of guh -grace!
the Luh -Lord is wuh-with you;
Blessed art you amuh-mong wuh-women,
and buh-blessed is the fruit of your womb,
Juh-Jesus.
Holy Muh-muh-Mary, muh-muh-muh-mother of
guh -God,
puh-pray for us suh-sinners,
now and at the hour of our duh-duh-duh-death.
Amen.
And I pictured old buh-blue-eyed honey-haired Muh-Mary walking up behind her Juh-Jesus, tapping that buh-boy on the shoulder, and shuh-showing him my picture.
‘“Go deliver this poor lost chuh-child,’ she tuh-told him, just like your own muh-mother might ask you to fuh-fetch out the trash. ‘Guh-go and duh-duh-liver that buh-boy, his huh-heart is fuh-fit to bust.’
“And then I heard Jesus say something like, ‘Luh-leave me be, Muh-Mama. I finna be guh-goin’ to buh-bed soon.’ And off poor old blue-eyed Virgin Mary went.
“Next I suh-said the Act of Contrition. Duh-don’t turn your ears off yuh-yet:
O my Guh-God, I am huh-heartily sorry,
fuh-for having offended yuh-you,
and I duh-detest of all my suh-sins,
buh-because of your juh-just punishments;
Buh-but most of all because they offend yuh-you,
my Guh -God, who are all guh -guh -guh -guh -guh -
guh-good,
and deserving of all my luh-love.
I fuh-firmly resolve, with the help of your
guh-grace,
to suh-sin no more, and to avoid the near occasions
of suh-sin.
Amen.
Now that I was contrite in the eyes of the Huh-Holy Spirit, and huh-he’d resolved in his heart that I was a durn guh-good boy, I could suh-see him: in a three-piece suit, Cuh-Cuban suh-see-gar sticking out of his muh-mouth, approaching Juh-juh-Jesus with a port-fuh-folio in his hands.
“‘Luh-listen, Jesus,’ the Holy Spirit said—though maybe not ‘Jesus’ so muh-much as ‘Hay-zoose’—‘huh-here’s the guh-goods on this Nuh-Number One indi-vuh-vuh-viddle. Chuh-check him out, I thuh-think you’ll luh-like wuh-what you suh-see.’
“But Juh-Jesus wouldn’t take no luh-look in the portfolio. ‘I huh-heard it from you and I huh-heard it from my muh-mama,’ Jesus told the Holy Suh-Spirit. ‘And I fuh-finna set stuh-still till I huh-hear it from my duh-daddy.’
“So off went the Spirit and on cuh-came the Fuh-Father, but he wuh-wouldn’t make no muh-move till I’d said my puh-prayers. This is what I suh-suh-said; it’s called the Our Fuh-Father and it’s been nuh-known to suh-save even sinking shuh-ships:
Our Fuh-Father, who art in Huh-Heaven,
huh-hallowed be thy nuh-nuh-name;
thy kingdom cuh-come;
thy will be duh-done on earth as it is in Huh-
Heaven.
Guh-gwe us this day our daily buh-bread;
and forguh-give us our tuh-trespasses as we forgive
thuh -those
who tuh-trespass against us;
And lead us nuh-not into tempuh-tation,
but duh-duh-liver us from Eve-eve-evil.
No amen.
And Guh-God turned out the luh-lights in heaven, and cuh-crept to the bedside of his buh-baby boy Jesus, and Guh-God thought Juh-Jesus looked so puh-peaceful sluh-sluh-sleeping there that he duh-didn’t want to go and wuh-wake him. But Jesus was awake uh-uh-any-way—they say he always is—and huh-him and his daddy commenced to duh-duh-’scussin me. I couldn’t huh-hear what they were suh-saying, buh-but I nuh-knew it was only a muh-matter of tuh-time.
“So I looked huh-high above me, at the huh-heav-ens and the tuh-tuh-traffic light. There must’ve been a fuh-fuse blown, ’cause all four suh-sides of the luh-light shone red. For the tuh-time buh-being I knew I was suh-safe, so I awaited the arrival of Juh-juh-Jesus.
“Some time puh-puh-passed and he huh-hadn’t shuh-shown. I ruh-ruh-ruh-rose up from the ground and looked to the wuh-west—he wuh-wasn’t there. I tuh-turned my huh-head and luh-looked to the nuh-north—he wasn’t thuh-there. I did an about-fuh-face and looked to the suh-south, but he wasn’t there nuh-neither. At last I turned my fuh-face to the east and saw nuh-nothing but a buh-brokendown road. I realized then that he wuh-wasn’t guh-going to shuh-show, thuh-that the answer to my puh-prayers had buh-been an undisputed ‘Nuh-No!’ I fell to the ground and tore at thuh-thuh-the earth, and when I was fuh-finished I shuh-shouted to the heavens every buh-bad word I’d ever huh-heard.”
Here, Number One proceeded to list over one hundred curse words, some in different languages. I’d never known there could be so many, and I tried my best to memorize the ones that were good. When he’d finished, Number One wiped his forehead and spit.
“The duh-devil could tuh-take me for all I cared, my Juh-juh-Jesus was nowhere to be found. I fuh-fell alseep.
“When I wuh-woke, huh-heaven seemed no duh-different from the earth I’d just luh-left. There was a buh-black-bottomed sky, and a buh-barren stretch of highway, and a traffic light juh-just like the one I’d gone asleep to buh-bleeding its ruh-red on an everdead world. Then I suh-saw the luh-lady.
“She had a wruh-wrinkled buh-body and ruh-red hair. A guh-green can of paint was suh-slung across her arm.
‘“Leg up?’ Thuh-that’s what she suh-said to me. Honest to Guh-God. ‘Leg up?’
“Next thing I knew she was stuh-standing on my shuh-shoulders, her an old lady and everything, a cuh-can of green puh-paint buh-balanced between her ankles, ruh-resting on my head.
“‘Steady,’ she tuh-told me. ‘Easy duh-does it.’
“She commenced to puh-painting the red lights green, dropping puh-paint all over my fuh-face in the puh-process. When she was duh-done she luh-leapt like a cuh-cat from the puh-perch of my shuh-shoulders, grabbed me hard with her half-cuh-claw hand, and all but duh-duh-dragged me to the side of the ruh-road.
Hundreds of cars streamed through the intersection, and I just up and fuh-fainted.
“When I wuh-woke I was on the suh-side of the ruh-road. It was cuh-clear. Huh-heaven wouldn’t huh-have me.
“I wuh-walked home juh-just in time for breakfast, and thuh-threw on a nuh-new puh-pair of shoes. Already it was time to go back to guh-goddamn work.
“I headed down Fort Seltrum road to Cuh-Caritas. The tuh-traffic lights at every intersuh-suh-section I puh-passed were painted guh-green. That was when I knew that I huh-hadn’t duh-dreamed about the Ruh-ruh-Red Light Luh-Lady, and I wanted to fuh-find her and thuh-thank her for suh-saving my luh-life. But by the tuh-time the wuh-workday had ended, and wuh-once again nuh-night had fuh-fallen, and muh-men on longnuh-necked suspension luh-ladders had scraped all the guh-green-painted lights back to ruh-red, the wuh-world seemed just as dead, and slow, and ruh-ready to give up. And the Ruh-Red Light Lady was nowhere to be found.
“Thuh-that night, as I walked down Fort Seltrum, I spuh-spotted a police car parked at the intersection where Juh-Jesus nuh-never shuh-showed. A long wuh-wooden ladder lay on the guh-ground, crossed like a stick, and a huh-huge smear of guh-green paint sat spuh-spuh-splattered ’cross the hood of the cuh-cop car. Then I suh-saw that the two puh-policemen were stuh-struggling on the ground with somebody.
“I duh-did not need to guh-guess that it was the Red Light Lady.
“Her forehead was cuh-cut, and buh-blood streamed down her face, and she fuh-fought like a wildcat in the arms of the officers. When she caught suh-sight of me she thrust her arms out in muh-my direction, as if to guh-gather me close to her heart. But one of the policemen tuh-took out his buh-billy club and ruh-rapped her over the head. She fuh-fell to her knees without a sound and they tuh-took her away in the squad cuh-car.”
Number One closed his eyes. It wasn’t raining no more.
“And thuh-thuh-that’s the stuh-story of the Cuh-Crazy Red Light Luh-Lady,” he said.
According to the clock on the kitchen wall it was midnight when we walked through the frontdoor of Number One’s house, and though I’d rather stare at an open wound than the face of any clock, there was something sort of different about this one. It’d been made from the stump of a giant cypress, had been lacquered and left to harden till it looked as slick and shiny as a caramel apple, and unlike most clocks it didn’t make any noises that it didn’t absolutely have to. I imagined it passed time better than other clocks too, rushing through that half hour between hunger and suppertime, letting you sleep late on Saturdays when it had the power to, and stopping altogether when you needed a moment away from everything. I told Number One how much I liked it, and he said his daddy’d give it to me free for twenty-five dollars.
Number One told us to keep quiet because his folks—meaning his mother and daddy and baby sisters Darcy and Carondelet—were sleeping. This was only partly true. His daddy was out in the backyard working on something; we could see his lean humped shadow moving across the curtains of the sliding glass door, and we came upon his mother reading the newspaper in a big chair in the Florida room. She seemed to scan the paper more with her nose than her eyes, and her long dyed honeydew hair hung clear below her rocking-chair shoulders. There was a bottle of cold beer pressed between her legs and she didn’t look up when we walked into the room.
Number One cleared his throat.
“Hey Muh-Mama,” he said. “I quit my juh-juh-job tonight.”
Her tongue touched the tip of her thumb and forefinger and she turned a page of the newspaper. It did not rustle.
“Then you’ll have to get another,” she said.
Number One bowed his head.
“Yes, Mama.”
He looked at us hard and turned to leave, but the voice of his mother stopped him short.
“Where are Romulus and Remus going to sleep?” she asked. She still had not looked at any of us.
Number One bobbed suddenly on his heels, like he was nervous. He continued to bob up and down as he spoke.
“I don’t nuh-nuh-know,” he sighed. “I guess my buh-bed. I’ll tuh-take the floor as guh-goddamn usual.”
I saw the newspaper flutter a little, but Number One’s mother still refused to gaze up.
“There will be no profanity in this house. Do you understand?”
Number One poked his tongue out quickly. Had she been looking, she would have seen it.
“Yes, Muh-muh-Mama, I understand.”
“And furthermore,” his mother continued, “I won’t have you sleeping on that cold floor. You’ll catch your death. I’ll fix you a nice place to sleep on the davenport, and Romulus and Remus can have the bed in your room.” She turned another page of the paper and snapped it to attention; you could tell she was the one in the military and not Number One’s daddy. “One more thing. Are those boys going to cause any trouble?”
Number One rolled his eyes and looked at us. My brother was half-asleep on Number One’s shoulder and I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open. I was also fighting a terrific yawn; it was rude to yawn in the face of a lady.
“No’m,” Number One answered. “I’ll try to keep these wild buh-boys out of muh-muh-muh-mischief.”
“You’d better,” she told him. She broke the spine of the newspaper and let it collapse in her lap. Then she brought her head up, at last, looked me and my brother over good, took a long noisy unladylike swig from her bottle of beer, and belched. But it was all an act—the belching, the paper snapping, the third-degree interrogation. On the surface she seemed crabapples clean through, but deep down she was as sweet as any woman could be. The first night my brother and me’d spent beneath the same roof as Number One’s mother, we thought for sure she’d creep to our bedside and skin us and scalp us and mount us on her mantelpiece. But we made it through to the light of the morning and came to know her as an all-bluff powderpuff with a grim sense of humor. For instance, when she’d recovered from her own enormous belch and its saucy stench had settled at last in the pouch of our nostrils, she brought her hands behind her head, opened her eyes wide and glassy and green, and said, very seriously, “All right. I suppose they can spend the night. But under one condition.”
Number One scowled.
“What’s thuh-thuh-that?” he asked.
She curled up into a tiny ball that crushed the newspaper whispering beneath her. She smiled.
“Under the condition that they kiss me goodnight.”
I coughed and shook my brother awake; her words stirred like milksnakes in the pit of my bowels.
“What?” he said, noisily. “What?”
“It’s Number One’s mother,” I told him. “She’s lost it. She says we got to kiss her goodnight.”
As if to ask, “Is this true?” my brother looked at Number One.
Number One nodded.
“Well,” he said, sucking in his gut, “I won’t do it.” He slouched over a bit and jabbed me in the chest with his thumb. “I won’t do it, and neither will he!”
There was silence for a moment, then Number One looked from his mother to my brother and closed his eyes tiredly. After a while Number One’s mother humphed and shook her head and took up the paper with the broken spine. “I save all my kisses for my husband anyway,” she said. And she laughed and laughed and laughed.
Number One blushed wearily because he was embarrassed for her.
“Come on,” he said, leading us from the Florida room. “I’ll go get the cuh-cuh-cuh-covers.”
He returned with the bed things and told us to step aside while he made up the bed for us. We stood there falling asleep upright against the wall, and when he’d finished and told us goodnight and shut the door behind him, we went to bed without even getting under the blankets he’d so carefully tucked and spread and folded. We were so tired we didn’t even get undressed. I had my undershirt off and my brother slept in his wet jeans and heavy jacket and bloody pukepocked undershirt, his right hand deep inside his army jacket, holding to the canteen like a little kid clinging to the hollow shell of a dead pet turtle. I could hear him talking to himself and knew it might be some time before he nodded off to sleep.
I recalled how Number One had promised poker games and ghost stories and crank telephone calls, but I didn’t mind missing them. I was starved for sleep and felt it come the second my head met the feather pillow. But thirty minutes later my brother was stirring me awake, tugging at my arm and saying my name.
“What?”
“I can’t fall to sleep.”
I looked at his chin and asked him why not.
“Because,” he said. “I can’t… fall.”
He reached into his army jacket and withdrew the canteen. He shook it. It was empty.
“No medicine,” he said, rattling like a skeleton. “I’m going. I’m going to go get some.”
“Where?”
‘I don’t know.”
He got out of bed, and I rolled out with him.
“It’s too late to get any,” I told him, cautiously. “Come back to bed and we’ll get some in the morning.”
He held the canteen in front of my nose and shook it. His eyebrows formed a pitiful “V.”
“Need it now. Unh-unh-unh. Can get it at home. It’s empty. See?”
“You can’t go home now. What if he finds you?”
“I don’t care,” he said. “Don’t care!” He was rattling harder now, like a bone-locomotive, and beneath his breath he repeated: “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him.”
“Shhh.” I looked around. “We gotta be quiet. Number One’s folks’ll hear.”
His face was damp with panic and exhaustion. When he opened his mouth two long spittle-strings stretched and snapped.
“I don’t care,” he repeated. “Listen. I’ll kiss her.” I knew then he was out of his head. “Do you know what—do you know it? Do you know what he said to me before you barged in?”
I shook my head. He was talking about what had ha
ppened at the bait store.
“No,” I said. “I sure don’t.”
He laughed at me then, loud and wicked.
“No! That’s right. You don’t, goddamn it, do you?”
I saw a light go on in the hallway. My brother saw it too. We were silent and it went back off. My brother’s chest heaved up and down. His eyes were the size of two swollen ticks.
I had a thought; I could go get his medicine for him.
“Here,” I said. “Let me have—”
I tried to take the canteen, but he grabbed me by the neck and shoved me into a corner.
“Keep your goddamn hands off!”
I looked at him, swallowing.
“I was only trying to —”
“Keep your goddamn hands off.”
He had me by the neck still and nothing in his face or eyes moved, except me.
“Listen,” I said, my voice barely steady. “I can go and get the medicine for you, if you want. Then you can stay here and sleep while I fetch a fresh bottle. Would you like that? Would that be all right? Listen, now. You just hand me that canteen of yours and I’ll—”
It did not take long, and at least it was complete. I’d sensed it coming, but that didn’t matter. In one form or another it had happened many times previous. I felt his fist fall in and out of my stomach like a reliable pump, and I’d given up long ago suspecting it meant anything, that he was mad at me for this reason or hurt with me for that. He was just mean; he only needed to hit to hit; and I was the closest thing around to suit his purpose. So I stood there, taking it, held up by the pendulum motion of his arms, and he was like a machine trying to pound something into its previous shape, a shape the machine could only barely remember. As the darkness swelled I remembered the night long ago when my brother and me had crept to the bathroom at the end of our hallway at twelve o’clock midnight. We had candles, both of us, and all the lights were out, and we whispered “Bloody Mary” one hundred times with our backs to the medicine cabinet. If you did this, supposedly, you’d turn to bear witness to the face of the Blessed Virgin lit bloody and weeping in the bathroom mirror. But we were not surprised to see ourselves.
Life in the Land of the Living Page 7
