by Abby Bardi
“I need—” I stopped in the middle of the sentence, not exactly sure what I was saying. Then suddenly, I wasn't even sure where I was. It seemed like I had landed somewhere strange where I didn't recognize anything. The room looked small and fake, like I was watching everything on a television. “I need—”
At that moment, Roy came down the stairs. His eyes were all slitty, like he'd been sleeping. “What do you need, Mary Fred?” His voice was raspy, like he had a frog in his throat, or maybe a big dog.
I looked at him and said, “I don't know.” I ran into the kitchen and out the back door into the yard, past the spready oak and over to the toolshed, which was made of metal and kind of leaned to one side, like it was tired. A bunch of stuff was crammed inside, and it took a lot of hunting through it butI finally found a trowel. I kneeled down in a bed of nasty yellow flowers and started digging up the ground between them. It was all overgrown with weeds, and the flowers were being strangled. I could see their sad little faces just gasping for breath. I was used to taking gardening very seriously, partly because we grew all our own food at the Compound, and a lot of it at the Outpost, but also because we believed that the World Beyond was a garden, and we needed to know how to live there. The Reverend Smith had always said we had to develop all our skills in this world because we were going to need them, but that everything would be easier there, flowers would jump from the ground and reach up overhead in praise, and the fruits and vegetables would just bust out all over like fireworks. The cows would beg us to make them into hamburger meat, and the sheep would lay down his life for us, and our table would overfloweth. When the Reverend Smith said this, I pictured a huge table with a white tablecloth, and all my family sitting there, and our friends from the Compound, the ones that had died in the fire and the ones who were in prison, and my brothers would be at the head of the table, and we'd be eating these great big tomatoes the size of watermelons and saying Hallelujah.
When I looked up, I noticed that it had started raining again and that I had been kneeling in the dirt, crying, for some time.
It was strange how all this time I hadn't really cried at all, just a little here and there, because Mama had said not to cry, but there was something about the garden in the World Beyond that must have gotten to me. How beautiful it was, and how when I opened my eyes back up again, I was in a pile of weeds in front of Alice's toolshed. That was the worst part about waiting, I always thought, that though this world was pretty enough sometimes, at least some of it was, the next wasgoing to be so much prettier that I could hardly stand how long it would take to get there. There were things about life on earth that I had liked—Sunday dinners, and playing soldiers in the woods with Fred, Little Freddie, and Rickie, and riding our horses across the fields. But now it seemed like the happy things about this world were gone, and there was nothing to do but wait for the next. I looked up at the spready oak, and it seemed to lead all the way up to the places that mattered.
When I went back in the house, Alice was standing in the kitchen, talking to Roy. They stopped talking when I came in and then Alice said, “Roy, it's getting late and we have nothing for dinner. Could you go out and pick something up?”
Of course, what I was thinking was that Alice seemed surprised that here it was almost evening and we were going to have to eat again, as if she didn't realize that we were all going to have to eat today, and tomorrow, and every day after that. We had been in the grocery store just yesterday, but she had only bought enough for one day, like she was thinking that she never knew for sure if the next day was going to happen or not. I could have told her that she was right about that, because the Big Cat was coming, and coming soon, but I didn't see the point of mentioning it.
Roy was saying that he had stuff to do and he didn't see how he was going to have time to go pick up dinner, but Alice just handed him two new-looking twenty-dollar bills and gave him a firm, mean look, at least it was mean for Alice. Bad as I still felt, I almost laughed at the way she knitted her eyebrows together and took in her breath like she was about to start yelling at him, though we all knew that she was never going to yell at anyone. Roy took the money, wadded it up, and stuffed it in his pocket, but then he sat down in a chair next to Heather in the living room, like he was too tired to go anywhere just yet.
“Mary Fred, you're soaking wet,” Alice said, looking at me. “Let me get you a towel.”
“I'm okay,” I said, though she was right, I was soaked to the skin.
Alice went upstairs and came back with a long stripy towel. She wrapped it around my shoulders and started rubbing me dry.
I found myself pushing her arms away and taking a few steps backward. Alice handed me the towel, like she hadn't noticed how rude I'd just been. I took it, draped it over me, and began to dry my hair. The towel got all wet and smelled like rain, and I held it in front of my nose, just breathing, in and out, taking in the smell of the water. I stopped drying myself and stood there, just smelling, and pretty soon my shoulders started to shake. I felt myself drop down to my knees, onto the hard floor, and lay my forehead down against it, still in the towel. I was making this howling sound, like wolves had gotten into me somehow.
“Mary Fred?” I felt Alice's hand on my head.
I shook my head underneath the towel and kept on howling.
“Mary Fred? What can I do for you? Tell me.”
I didn't say anything.
“Puffin, go make Mary Fred some chamomile tea. Mary Fred, come here, I'm going to help you over to the couch.” I felt Alice's arms lift me up and walk me over to the sofa next to where Puffin had been. I felt myself sit down, and Alice's arms go around me. I let her keep them there for a moment, but when she peeled the towel away from my face, I pushed her arms away. I saw her face, puzzled and concerned, her graying hair all in a frazzle and the glasses that she wore sometimes on the end of her nose a little bit crooked, and I just shook my head again.
“What can I do for you, Mary Fred?”
“Nothing. There's nothing anyone can do. The One willwipe away every tear from mine eyes and guide me to the water of life.”
“You want some tea?” Heather asked. She was holding a steaming cup out to me.
“No, thank you,” I said. My voice was sounding so evil again that it scared me. I looked at the three of them. I was amazed that Heather had actually done something her mother asked her to do and gone and made me tea. Alice was sitting next to me, staring miserably at me like she was waiting for me to snap out of it. Roy was standing a few feet away from me, looking more awake than I'd ever seen him. “There's nothing I want from any of you Lackers,” I went on. “I just have to wait for the Imminence, and then I'll be in the garden and everything will be fine. The Big Cat is coming, and coming soon, and I'll be leaving you all behind anyway. You'll all be down here broiling in the lake of fire, and I'll be at the white table with my brethren, feasting on the feast of true foods, while the flowers reach around me like the hands of the Apostles, and fruits fall from the sky like holy rain. Yea, then it will rain and rain true—fire for you, holy water for me. I'll be in the kingdom of the Eternal One for all eternity. It won't be long now, no, it won't be long.” By now, a mixed-up bunch of the Reverend Thigpen's words and the Words of the Book were pouring from me like hailstones. I shut my mouth to stop them.
There was a moment of silence, and then Roy said, “What brought this on, Mary Fred?” The stupid look had gone from his face and he just looked worried and confused. “Is it because it's Sunday?”
I felt my eyes fill with more tears.
“You miss your family worse on a Sunday, don't you?” he said.
I didn't say anything.
Roy took a few steps backward, nodding the whole time like he'd just made a brilliant discovery. He looked at Alice, who shook her head like she was too tired to know how to speak, and then he went out the front door. When he had gone, I let Alice put her arm around me. Heather went back into the kitchen and I could hear running water, like
she was doing dishes or something. After a while, I felt so limp and tired that I just laid my head down on Alice's shoulder. Her shoulder smelled funny, like her shirt had been in a closet for a long time, and the skin underneath it smelled a little sweaty, but it was a comforting smell. I hid my face in the towel again and we just sat there like that for a while.
When I was done crying, Alice held both of my hands and looked into my face. “Mary Fred, this is hard, I know, but we'll get through it somehow.”
“How long will I have to be here?” I asked, still sniveling.
“I don't know. The court has given us custody of you indefinitely. It all depends on—on what happens. It's hard to adjust, I know—everything is so different. . . .”
“So different,” I said.
“And we must seem strange to you. But you know, you're strange to us too. We're just all different, that's all. Everybody's different.”
“I know that,” I said, sounding grumpy like Heather. But the truth was, I had never liked anyone who was different. Or rather, no, it wasn't that I hadn't liked them, but I had just felt sorry for them, for all the suffering they were going to have that I was going to miss out on, and it didn't make me want to know anybody like that very well. There was too much pitying involved.
“Come on,” Alice said, standing up, still holding my hands. “Let's set the table. Do you have Sunday dinner at home?”
“Of course.”
“Let's make it fancy. Can you make those swans out of napkins for me now?”
“I guess.”
“I'll get the dishes.” Alice went into a wooden cabinet and took out a bunch of flowered plates with gold rims that I hadn't seen before, and some glasses with stems. She went into a drawer and drug out some silverware that looked all old and tarnishy. I sat down at the table with a stack of napkins and started making swans, though every so often I'd have to use one to dry my eyes or blow my nose. When I had finished the swans, I went upstairs to the bathroom and washed my hands. I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were all red and the lashes were stuck together, and my cheeks were pale but with pink spots in them. I splashed cold water on my face until it was all reddish, and then I patted myself dry with a dirty little hand towel. When I came downstairs again, the table was set, and Alice had put yellow candles in big brass candlesticks right in the center and lit them. She had lowered the lights in the room so that the candles lit most of it, and the TV had been turned off and music with violins was playing.
The front door swung open and Roy walked in, carrying three big paper bags that said “Chicken A Go-Go” on the side. He took them into the kitchen, and before long, he and Alice came back out carrying plates full of food and laid them down in the center of the table. We all sat down. Roy was about to start eating, but Alice asked, “Do you have a prayer you want to say?”
At first I just sat for a minute, not saying anything. I could hear the sound of my breaths as they passed in and out of my body. But then I said the Beautiful Prayer, and we ate.
THE BOOK OF ALICE
“You're crazy,” Roy said to me. “I mean, Alice, what are you thinking?”
“She needs somewhere to live,” I said.
“Alice, you're insane.”
“I just think it would be kind of nice. It would be good for Puffin to have a foster sister.”
“Puffin doesn't get enough attention as it is.”
“Oh, thanks, now you're saying I'm a bad mother.”
“I don't think you're a bad mother, Al, but face it, we're not exactly Ozzie and Harriet here.”
“Look, Roy, I told Diane we would do it, and now it's too late to back out.”
“Let Diane do it.”
“Diane can't do it, Roy.”
“Why can't Diane do it?”
“You know why.”
“Why?”
“She's a lesbian.”
“So?”
“She doesn't think this girl could handle living with a lesbiancouple. I mean, she's from some kind of religious cult, and they're born again, or something like that, and—”
“She's what?”
“She's in this group up in Frederick County and they—”
“You're having some kind of Moonie kid move in with us?”
“I think they're some sort of Christians, actually.”
“Alice, please, think about this, use your brain here.”
“I am using my brain, Roy.” I was nearly screaming at him by this time. Of course, Roy says that when I scream, I sound like a lamb bleating, but I felt about ready to punch him. “I've already done the paperwork, we've been approved by the court, and the decision has been made. Legally. So that's really the end of the discussion.” And it was. It had been more than a year since Roy had paid me any rent, and though he knew I would never throw that in his face, it always hovered between us like a dark cloud. Roy opened his mouth as if he were about to say something else, but then he closed it, shook his head, and started out the front door. I ran after him and caught his arm. “Look, Roy, I'm sorry, but it's just something I feel I need to do. When Diane told me about her, I thought we ought to try to help. I had a gut feeling about it. And Diane was having trouble finding her a family.”
“A family,” Roy said, shaking his head.
“Come on, Roy.” I touched his cheek with my hand and smiled at him. He was my baby brother, and sometimes I still thought of him as little Binky, his cheeks smeared with peanut butter, jelly, tears. “We're a nice family. It'll be fine. It'll do us all good.”
Roy shook his head again, though at least by now he was smiling a little, and said, “You're nuts, Al.”
I said, “I know.”
I had thought Puffin might not take the news too well either, but it wasn't as bad as I'd feared. Sometimes Puffin could be a bit histrionic, but she remained fairly calm while we had our little talk. Her main concern seemed to be that her new foster sister not impinge upon her space. “She's not going to sleep in my room, right?”
“We'll put her in the guest room.”
“And she won't need to use any of my stuff. Like, she'll have her own stuff.”
“I'm sure she will.”
“And I'll still be in charge of the TV.”
“I guess so.” She went on for a while with her list of demands, all of which I agreed to, as usual. When it seemed we were finished, I said, “So, are you okay with this, Puff?”
“Whatever,” she said, adding, “You're so weird.”
I spent the next few days cleaning out the guest room— we called it that, though we rarely had guests in it. My mother came up from Florida for a week every spring, spending the whole time playing canasta with her old cronies, but apart from that, we mostly used the room to throw things in when we were finished with them. It was full of Puffin's old books, and Roy's tennis racket, which he never used anymore, and a StairMaster I had bought and then given up on. I took a bunch of the stuff I knew we would never need again to a yard sale that one of our neighbors was having, but that didn't seem to help much. The room still looked cluttered, but eventually it was a neat sort of clutter, and I had made room in the closet by taking out a bunch of my father's old suits that I had ended up with somehow when he died. My mother hadn't wanted them and had made me take them when she moved to Florida, and I just couldn't bear to throw them away, since they were allanyone had left of my father. But I needed the space, and I made myself take them to Good Will. When I came home, the guest room seemed lighter, airier, as if it had been reborn as someone else's room.
The rest of our house, meanwhile, was in the process of falling into ruin. No one but me ever cleaned, and Puffin and Roy left things in piles all over the house. When Puffin came home from school, she would throw her book bag on the floor and scatter papers everywhere, leaving notes for me to sign, empty Oreo packets, and pencil shavings all over the dining-room table. Most days, the table was so heaped with people's junk that we just ate in the living room in front of the TV. I hired a pain
ter to touch up the front of the house, which had been quietly peeling off, and I tackled the inside. When I finished with the guest room (I had bought a bedspread and some matching window treatments at JCPenney), I started in on the rest of the house, sweeping piles of debris into boxes and carting them up to Roy's and Puffin's rooms; I opened their doors and just shoved everything in, then closed them again. Doing this made me feel that in some small way I had triumphed for a moment over the chaos that always hovered around me, threatening to close in.
When I actually saw Mary Fred for the first time, I felt disappointed. I don't know what I'd been expecting—someone younger, maybe, though I knew how old she would be, or someone cuter. Mary Fred was not cute—she was a little too tall and gangly, with dark blond stringy hair, and her front teeth stuck out in a way you don't see much anymore, since everyone gets braces now. Her eyes were just a little too small, and her nose was just a little too long, but that wasn't it. Iguess what kept her from being cute, and what scared me, was that she looked all grown up already, like there was nothing I could do to help her.
Her manner was off-putting too. I was used to Puffin and her friends, and I had never met a child that polite. When she thanked me for everything, and called me “ma'am,” I knew this was meant to sound respectful, but it just made me feel ancient. Even more difficult for me was the fact that she didn't seem to need anything. I was used to people who did, and I didn't know what to do with Mary Fred at first. She was cool, calm, self-sufficient—of course, I'd been expecting a trauma victim (though soon it became clear that she was much more upset than she let herself show, or even than she knew). Within hours of her arrival, she had cleaned my entire house more thoroughly than I had since the days when Peter lived there. Even the bottles of cleaning sprays under my sink now stood in rows that had been arranged with military precision, as if they were only waiting for my orders to spring into action.
I just wasn't used to people like this. And then there was her religion. Although Roy and I grew up pretty much confused about that kind of thing, I did know people who went to church or temple, and they seemed normal enough, though the idea of getting all dressed up and actually leaving the house on a Sunday morning or worse, a Saturday, seemed strange and pointless. But Mary Fred had clearly never taken a breath in her life that did not have to do with the doctrines of her religion, whatever it was. I never quite understood it. Everything she said seemed to have something to do with their beliefs, and she seemed so sure of them. All my life I had struggled—in college, staying up late arguing about philosophy, about whether physics proved that there was a God orthat there wasn't, about ethics, personal and societal, weighing, wishing there were something I could come to that we could all decide was Truth—and there never was. But here was Mary Fred with this calm certainty about everything, and even cheer about this event she called the Big Cat, though when I found out what it was, I began to see her cheer in a different light.
