"Books . . ?" she asked, distaste on her face. "Ya mean that's what ya'd rather have, more than anythin? Ya must be crazy." And with that she spun on her heel and seemed eager to lead me into the dining room, though my vision was smeary with fatigue, my impressions becoming vague from too many changes all at once.
Yet I had to view the dining room with its large oval glass-top table, sitting atop a fancy gold-colored pedestal formed by three golden dolphins that obligingly fanned their tails to support the thick, heavy glass. I was swaying on my feet, exhausted. I tried desperately to listen to Kitty, to see all the objects that Kitty kept pointing out.
Next we visited the spanking-white kitchen. Even the white floor tiles shone. "Expensive vinyl," she explained, "t'best money kin buy." I nodded, not knowing the best from the worst. Through sleepy eyes I beheld the modern-day wonders I'd dreamed about all my life: the dishwasher, the double porcelain sinks, the gleaming chrome fixtures, the large kitchen range with two ovens, all the white cabinets, the long countertops, the round table and four chairs. Everywhere possible, to keep all the white from being monotonous, were more of Kitty's works.
She'd taken animal forms and made them into different kinds of containers. Ceramic baskets were really flour, sugar, tea, and coffee canisters; a pink pig held utensils too large to fit inside a drawer; and a magenta horse was sitting down as a human would, holding pink paper napkins.
"Now what ya think, really think?" demanded Kitty. "It's pretty, so clean, colorful, and pretty," I whispered, my voice gone hoarse.
We returned to the front foyer, where Kitty again checked over the living room and then narrowed her eyes. "They done put em in t'wrong places!" she shrieked. "Would ya look where they put my elephant end tables? An I jus noticed! In t'corners--in t'dammed corners--where ya kin't even see em! Heaven, right now we got t'put this place t'orda."
It took an hour to move everything to where Kitty wanted it to be. The large ceramic pieces were surprisingly heavy. I was tired enough to drop. Kitty stared at my face, seized hold of my hand, and pulled me toward the stairs. "Give ya a betta tour tomorra. Yer gonna love it. Right now we gotta get ya ready fer bed."
All the way up the stairs Kitty rambled on about her famous movie-star clients, all stars who insisted only she could do their hair right. "They come t'perform in shows, an always they ask fer me. Why, I've seen things ya jus wouldn't believe--Lord, haven't I? Secrets, I've got 'em by t'million--won't tell a soul, not a single soul. Closemouthed, I am." Kitty paused, turned me around, and stared deep into my eyes. "What's wrong with ya? Kin't you hear? Aren't ya listenin?"
She was a blurred image. So exhausted I could sleep on my feet, I made an effort to be more enthusiastic about Kitty's rich clients, and also an honest excuse about it being a long day, and I wasn't hearing or seeing too well.
"Why ya talk like that?"
I winced. All my life I'd fought not to talk the way she did, as all hill folks talked, slurring their conjunctions so they ran into nouns, verbs, whatever, and she was criticizing me. "Miss Deale always insisted we should not slur our words and
contractions."
"Who then is Miss Deale?"
"My teacher."
Kitty snorted. "Neva had no use fer school or teachers. Nobody uses yer kind of Yankee talk. Ya'll make enemies, ya will, with that accent. Ya learn t'talk like t'rest of us, or suffer t'consequences."
What consequences?
"Yes, Kitty."
We'd reached the top of the stairs. Walls were wavering before my eyes. Suddenly Kitty turned to seize me by the shoulders; then she began to bang my head against the nearest wall. "WAKE UP!" yelled Kitty. "Ya wake up an hear this--I'm not Kitty t'ya! Yer t'call me Mother! Not Momma, not Mommy, not Mom or Motha--and, least of all, not Ma! But Mothher, understand?"
I was dizzy, my head hurt. She was amazingly strong. "Yes, Mother."
"Good, that's a nice girl, good girl--now let's take that bath."
Oh, I must never become too tired again, and risk the wrath of a woman who could turn on me in a second, and for no apparent reason.
Down a short hall toward an open door that revealed shiny black wallpaper with gold designs Kitty led me. "Now, here's t'master bathroom," informed Kitty, stepping inside first and dragging me along by the arm. "That thing ova there is called a commode by fancy folks, but I'm not fancy--it's a toilet. Ya lift t'lid before ya sit down, an ya flush every time ya use it--an don't ya fill it with paper or it'll stop up an flood ova, an it'll be yer goddam job t'clean it up. In fact, this whole house is yers tkeep clean. I'll explain how t'keep my plants alive, watered an fed, dusted, my planters shiny, all my stuff dusted, clean, vacuumed, an ya'll do elaundry, but first t'bath."
Here I was, my most fervent wish come true, an indoor bathroom, with hot and cold running water, a bathtub, a basin, mirrors on two walls--now I was too tired to enjoy any of it.
"Are ya listenin, girl--are ya?" came Kitty's shrill voice through my ever-thicker fog of fatigue. "All this paint, wallpaper, an carpet is brand-new, as ya kin plainly see. I want it t'stay that way. It's yer duty t'see it stays this way, brand-new--ya hear?"
Blindly I nodded.
"An ya might as well know from the beginnin, I expect ya t'work out t'expense of stayin here, an t'cost of what ya eat, by doin t'chores I assign. I'm sure ya don't know t'least thing about housework, an that's goin t'waste a good deal of my valuable time, but ya'll learn fast if ya hope t'live here." She paused again and stared deep into my eyes.
"Ya do like it here, don't ya?"
Why did she keep asking, when I hadn't had time to do more than glance around? And the way she talked was already putting me on guard, stealing my hope that this would be a home, rather than a jail.
"Yes," I said, trying to show more enthusiasm. "Everything is beautiful."
"Yeah, ain't it?" Kitty smiled softly. "Got another bathroom on t'first level. Jus as pretty--save it fer guests. Like t'keep it spotless, shinin. That'll be yer job."
All the time Kitty was reaching for bottles and jars hidden behind mirrored doors that slid open, and soon she had quite a collection on the counter shelf that was pink marble, to match the oval bathtub. Black and pink and gold, everything in the "master bath." More rainbowed fish swimming on the black and gold walls . . .
"Now," continued Kitty, all business, "t'first thing we gotta do is scrub all that filth from yer skin. Wash that dirty, buggy hair. Kill t'lice yer bound t'have. Kill all t'nasty germs. That pa of yers has got t'have everythin, an ya've been wallowin in his filth since t'day ya were conceived. Why, t'tales they tell about Luke Casteel in Winnerrow would curl hair betta than perms. But he's payin t'price fer all that fun now . . . payin a heavy price." She seemed glad, smiling her scary secret smile.
How did she know about Pa's disease? I started to say he was well now, but I was too tired to speak.
"Oh, fergive me, honey. Yer feelins hurt? But ya gotta understand I jus don't like yer pa."
That confirmed my choice. Anyone who didn't like Pa had to have good judgment. I sighed, then smiled at Kitty.
"Grew up in Winnerrow, parents still live there," she continued; "in fact, they wouldn't live nowhere else. People get like that when theys neva go nowhere. Skerred livin, that's what I call it. Fraid if they leaves home no big city is gonna know they exist. In Atlanta, where I work, they'd be just nobody important. Don't know how t'do nothin like I do. Don't have no talents like mine. Now, we don't live in Atlanta, like we said before, but in this subdivision twenty miles away; both Cal an I work, an there we have'ta fight t'world. That's what it is, ya know, a daily battle out there, me an him against t'world. He's mine an I love him. I'd kill t'keep him." She paused, eyeing me thoughtfully with hard, narrowed eyes.
"My shop is in a big, fancy hotel that draws all t'rich folks. Kin't buy a house here in Candlewick unless ya make more than thirty thousand a year, an with both Cal and me working, we double that some years. Why, honey, yer gomia love it, just love it. Ya'll go t'schoo
l in a three-storied building where they have an indoor swimming pool, an auditorium where they show movies, an of course ya'll be much happier there than in that fil old second-rate school . . . an jus think, yer right in time t'start t'new semester."
It made me hurt to think of my old school, and to remember Miss Deale. It was there I'd learned about the rest of the world, the better world, the different world that cared about education, books, paintings, architecture, science . . . not just existing from day to day. And I hadn't even been able to say good-bye to Miss Deale. I should have been nicer, more grateful for her caring. I should have thrown away my pride. I tried to stifle a sob. Then there was Logan, who might not have spoken because his parents were there that last time at church. Or some other reason. Now not only my beloved teacher but Logan too seemed unreal, like dreams I'd never have again. Even the cabin had gone fuzzy in my mind, and I'd left only hours ago.
Grandpa would be sound asleep by this time. And here the stores were still open and people were still shopping. Like Cal, off somewhere buying me new clothes that would be too large. I sighed heavily; some things never changed.
With leaden legs, I waited for Kitty to finish filling the fancy pink tub with water.
Steamy vapor clouded all the mirrors, filled my lungs, misted the air so Kitty seemed miles and miles away, and into fantasy land Kitty and I had drifted, up in the clouds near the moon--black, foggy night full of golden fish drifting with us. I felt drunk from lack of energy, swaying on my feet, and heard, as if truly from the moon, Kitty ordering me to undress and drop everything into the trash can she'd lined with a plastic bag, and out into the garbage would go everything I had on, to be thrown in the city dump and eventually burned.
Clumsily I began to undress.
"Yer gonna have everything new. Spendin a fortune on ya, girl, so ya think of that whenever ya feel homesick fer that pigsty cabin ya called home. NOW STRIP DOWN, INSTANTLY! Ya gotta learn t'move when I speak, not jus stand there like ya don't hear or understand--understand?"
With fingers made awkward from fear and fatigue, I began to work on the buttons of my old dress. Why weren't my fingers working better, faster? Somehow I managed to unfasten two, and even as I did this, Kitty pulled from a cabinet drawer a plastic apron. "Stand on this and drop yer clothes down around yer feet. Don't let anything ya wear touch my clean carpet or my marble countertops."
Naked, I stood on the plastic apron, with Kitty eyeing me up and down. "Why, bless my soul, yer not a little girl afta all. How old are ya anyway?"
"Fourteen," I answered. My tongue felt thick, my thoughts thicker, my eyes so sleepy they had grit in them, and even as I tried to obey Kitty, I blinked, yawned, and swayed.
"When will ya be fifteen?"
"February twenty-second."
"Ya had yer first monthly bloody time yet?" "Yes, started when I was almost thirteen."
"Well, now, neva would have guessed. When I was yer age I had boobs, big ones. Made t'boys hot jus nook my way, but all of us kin't be that lucky, kin we?"
Nodding, I wished Kitty would leave me alone to take my first bath in a real porcelain tub. Apparently Kitty had no intention of getting out, or giving me a moment to use the bathroom alone.
I sighed again and moved toward the pink toilet seat, realizing that she didn't intend to leave.
"NO! Firstya have t'cover t'seat with paper." And even that body function had to wait for Kitty to spread tissues all over the seat, and then she turned her back. What good did that do when she could still hear, and there were mirrors everywhere to reflect everything even if they were cloudy from steam?
Then Kitty sprang into action. She squatted down near the tub and informed me as she tested the water temperature, "Hot water is what ya have'ta sit in. Gotta scrub ya with a brush, put sulfur an tar soap on that hair of yers t'kill all those nits ya must have."
I tried to speak and tell Kitty I bathed more often than most hill people did, and once a week I washed my hair (only this morning), but I was without energy, without will to speak and defend myself. All kinds of confused emotions were churning within me, making me more tired and weak.
Funny how sick I felt. Silent screams stuck in my throat, tears froze behind my eyes, and, as Fanny often did, I wanted to yell and scream and throw some kind of tantrum, kick out and hurt somebody just so I wouldn't hurt so much inside; but I did nothing but wait for the tub to fill.
And fill it did. With scalding water.
All that was pink in the small room suddenly seemed red--and in that hellish misty red I saw Kitty taking off her pink knit top and pants. Underneath she wore a pink bikini bra and panties so small they hardly covered what they should.
Warily I edged away, watching Kitty move to pour something from a brown bottle into the tub. The stench of Lysol.
I knew the smell from school, when I'd stayed late to help Miss Deale, and the cleaning ladies and men had used Lysol in the rest rooms. I'd never heard of anyone taking a bath in Lysol.
Somehow a pink towel had found its way into my hand, a towel so large and thick I felt I could hide safely behind it. Not that anyone in the cabin had ever cared much about modesty, but I was ashamed to let Kitty see how thin I was.
"Put down the towel! Ya shouldn't touch my clean towel. All t'pink ones belong t'me, an only I use em, ya hear?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Yes, Mother," she corrected. "Neva call me anything but Moth-ther . . . say it like that."
I said it like that, still clutching the towel and dreading the feel of that hot water.
"Black velvet towels belong to Cal, not ya, rememba that. When my pink ones fade almost white, I'll turn em ova t'ya. Right now ya kin use some ole ones I brought home from my salon."
I nodded, my eyes riveted on the steam coming from the tubful of water.
"Now I've got everything ready." She flashed me a smile of assurance. "Now, slide yer feet along on t'plastic apron, an make it move with ya, so when yer near nough ya kin step inta t'tub."
"The water's too hot."
"Of course it's hot."
"It will burn me."
"How t'hell ya think ya kin come out clean without scaldin t'filth from yer skin? How? Huh? Now, get in!" "It's too hot."
"It. . . is. . . not . . . too . . . hot."
"Yes, it is. It's steaming hot. I'm not used to hot water, only barely warm."
"I knows that . . . that's why I gotta scrub ya off with hot, real hot."
Kitty closed in.
The dense fog of steam almost hid the longhandled pink brush in-her right hand. She smacked the palm of her left hand with that brush. The threat was unmistakable.
"Nother thin. When I tell ya t'do somethin-- anythin, --ya'll do it without question. We have paid out good money to buy ya, an now yer our property t'do with as we will. I took ya in cause once I was idiot nough t'love yer pa so much I let him break ray heart. Made me pregnant, he did, made me think he loved me, and he didn't. Tole him I'd kill myself iffen he didn't marry up with me . . . an he laughed an said, 'Go ahead,' then walked out. Took off fer Atlanta, where he met up with yer ma an married her . . . HER! An me, I'm stuck with a baby, so I gave myself an abortion, an now I kin't have a baby. But I got HER baby . . . even iffen ya aren't a baby now, yer still his. But don't ya go thinkin cause I was sweet on yer pa once, I'm gonna let ya run my life. There are laws in this state that would put ya away if they found out yer so bad yer own pa had to sell ya."
"But . . but . . . I'm not bad. Pa didn't have to sell me."
"Don't stand there an argue with me! GET in t'tub!"
I neared the tub gingerly, obeying Kitty by slipping my bare feet in such a way the plastic apron slid with me. I was doing everything I could to give that water time to cool off. First I closed my eyes and balanced on one leg as I tentatively extended my foot over heat-shimmering water. It was like dangling my foot over hell. Uttering a small cry, I jerked back my foot and turned to Kitty, pleading with my eyes, even as she snatched the pink towel awa
y and hurled it toward the dirty-clothes hamper.
"Mother, it really is too hot."
"It is not too hot. I always bathe in hot water, an if I kin stand it, so kin ya."
"Kitty . ."
"Mother--say it."
"Mother, why does the water have to be so hot?"
Perhaps Kitty liked the submissive tone in my voice, for she changed almost as if a magician had pushed a switch.
"Oh, honey," she crooned, "it's truly fer yer own good, really it is. T'hot will kill all t'germs. I wouldn't make ya do anythin that would hurt ya." Her seawater eyes turned soft, her tone as well; she appeared kind, motherly, persuading me I'd been mistaken. Kitty was a good woman needing a daughter to love. And I so wanted a mother to love me.
"See," Kitty said, testing the water by putting in her hand and arm up to her elbow, "it's not as hot as ya think. Now, step in like a good girl, an sit down, an let Mother scrub yer skin cleaner than it's eva been in yer whole life."
"Are you sure your bathwater is this hot?"
"Not lyin, honey baby. I do take baths in hot water like that all t'time." Kitty shoved me closer. "Once yer in an t'shock is ova, it feels good, real good; makes ya relax an feel sleepy. See, I'll pour in some pretty pink bubble bath. Ya'll like that. Ya'll come out smellin like a rose, looking like one, too."
Kitty had to let out some water in order to put in the bubble bath so she could again let the hot water gush in and make the pink crystals foam--and this, unfortunately, took away water that might have cooled down a bit from all I'd done to hesitate.
There it was before me, one of the dreams I'd prayed someday to enjoy, a perfumy bubble bath in a pink tub with mirrors all around . . . and I wasn't going to enjoy it.
I just knew it was going to burn.
"It'll be all right, sweetheart, really it will be. Would I ask ya t'do somethin that would hurt ya? Would I? I was a girl like ya once, an I neva had t'chance t'enjoy what-all I'm gonna do fer ya. One day in t'future ya'll go down on yer knees an give thanks ta t'Lord fer savin ya from t'depths of hell. Think of t'hot water as holy water. That's how I do it. Think of cold thins like ice, tons of crushed ice, sittin in ice an sippin cola drinks, think of that. It won't hurt. Neva hurt me, an I've got baby-soft skin."
Casteel 01 Heaven Page 22
