Martha Calhoun

by Richard Babcock

  I took off my blouse and slipped out of my shoes. “Do they still go out?” I asked.

  “Nah. They hardly went out after that. She was kinda fat.”

  I stepped out of my jeans. I was standing in the middle of the room in my bra and panties. Elro hadn’t noticed. He had closed his eyes, and he was humming a song, “Tutti-Frutti,” to himself.

  I wasn’t scared, and I didn’t have second thoughts. Other girls had talked about saving their virginity as a “gift” for their husbands, but that had never made sense to me. Women get divorced all the time or become widows and then marry again without any “gift” for the second man. It couldn’t be that important. Besides, Bunny never talked about it. Everything I’d ever heard about the sacredness of virginity had come from other girls.

  Still, standing in the center of room twelve, I hesitated for a moment. I guess I was concerned with history in a way—my first time—and I wanted to make sure I had taken in the setting: the pale walls; the white bowl of a ceiling light, with its crown of dust; the painting of a palmy beach hanging above the bed; the small pile of clothes left at my feet; the laughter of the boy and girl, still putting around the golf course.

  Elro opened his eyes and stopped singing. “Jesus!” he said. “Come here.”

  I stepped toward the bed, still hesitating, hoping to save a moment or two. “Elro,” I said, “what do you know about Little Richard?”

  “Huh?”

  “You know, the singer. You were just humming his song. Who is he?”

  “I don’t know. Who cares. Some nigger probably. Who cares?”

  I climbed onto the bed. My knees sank into the soft mattress. “I was just wondering.”

  He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward him. I was on top of him, and his arms were around me. He kissed me with his mouth open, and I could taste the mustard from his hot dogs. He rolled over on me and put his mouth near my ear. “I love you, I love you,” he whispered. He thrust his left leg between my thighs. He pressed himself against me. It was hard to breathe. He rubbed against me, his hips moving up and down.

  “Oh, Elro,” I said, though I didn’t feel anything. I just wanted to be part of it.

  “Ohhhh,” he moaned. His pumping became furious. His leg was wrapped tight around mine. He paused for a moment and reached down to unbutton his pants, but he couldn’t wait. He gave up and went back to pumping, harder and harder, so hard the side of my leg got raw from rubbing against his jeans.

  Finally, he stopped. His whole body went limp and sprawled over mine. He was incredibly heavy. His face was turned away, and I couldn’t feel his breathing. I wondered if he were dead. We lay that way for what seemed like an hour. I stared up at the ceiling. It was white and cracked, and huge flakes of paint were curling down. A water spot made rust-colored circles just over the bed. Outside, in back, an occasional group passed through the frog hole, always laughing as the ball ran up the tongue, always waiting in silent excitement as it clunked down through the huge frog body. Elro started to snore softly. I fell asleep.

  I woke when he rolled off me. He swung his feet over the side of the bed and put his head in his arms, rubbing his eyes.

  “I gotta go,” he said.

  “Go?”

  “My father’s gonna kill me for takin’ his truck.”

  “Oh.”

  “Here.” He reached in his pocket and took out his wallet, then he counted out eight ten-dollar bills, dropping them on the bedspread. “You can have the money.” He thought for a moment and took one of the bills back. “Well, let me have this to get home.”

  He stood up and tucked in his shirt. “You ought to go home, too. They’re just gonna catch you. This whole idea was crazy to begin with. They just would’ve found us and taken us back.”

  “I can’t go back.”

  “What are you gonna do?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.”

  He stomped around the room, as if looking for something. Finally, he picked up his suitcase, which was right beside the door, exactly where he’d left it when he came in. “My father’s gonna kill me,” he said again.

  I suddenly felt a chill, so I slid between the sheets. They were starched and clean. I thought of a hospital, though I’m not sure why—I’ve never spent a night in a hospital. Elro walked over to the bed.

  “Another thing,” he said slowly. “That stuff with Sissy that I told you about—it didn’t happen quite like that.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “It was sorta like that, but I really didn’t drown her. She drowned herself, really.” He stared at me. “You believe me, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  He put his suitcase down. “It was mostly like I said. She really did want it. She was watchin’ me all the time. It was obvious. The guys were teasing me about it, even my brother. The day of the picnic, she and I were out behind the float, and no one was there. I kissed her, and she got scared or something and started pullin’ away. She panicked. It was like she thought I was gonna rape her or something. She swam away and then she started wavin’ her arms and splashin’ up the water. And she splashed up a wave that just swept into her mouth. Her mouth was open for a scream, and the wave went right in. Then she started chokin’, and she sank. I knew she was dead because she sank like a rock. It was real scary. We were together, and then, all of a sudden, I was all alone. There was nothin’ else on the water, and it was real quiet.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I swam around tryin’ to find her, but I couldn’t remember where she’d been. The top of the water all looked the same. I dove down a couple of times, but it was no use. Finally, I just swam under the float and sort of sneaked back to the beach. No one noticed. And then, a while later, someone spotted her.” Elro rubbed his forehead with his hand, an old man’s gesture. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

  “I’m never going back to Katydid.”

  “But even so, you won’t tell, will you?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. But I don’t blame you.”

  He managed a smile. “Good.” He picked up his suitcase again. “And you can see why I didn’t feel that bad, can’t you? It was the scream that killed her. She opened her mouth, and she drowned. If she’d been quiet, she would have lived.” He searched my face. “I mean, I felt bad, but not as bad as if I’d done it myself.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you believe me?”

  “Yes.”

  Elro walked toward the door. I realized that I wasn’t surprised to see him go. It was as if I’d had a very clear picture of it, as if I’d seen it happen once before. I wondered if I’d been dreaming when he was lying on top of me on the bed. Maybe I’d already dreamed his departure.

  “Well, I gotta go,” he said. He put his hand on the doorknob. “The room’s paid for, you know.” He saw me staring at the wide, damp stain on the front of his jeans. “It’s a good thing …” he started to say, and then he stopped himself. He held the suitcase up in front of the stain. “This whole thing was pretty stupid,” he said.

  I didn’t respond, and he opened the door. The low, late-afternoon sun pushed past him and made the room too bright. I covered my eyes, and in that moment, he was gone. A few seconds later, I heard the truck start up and drive away. Soon, I fell back asleep.

  Much later, the sound of laughter on the frog hole woke me up. The room was dark, except for a slat of yellow light streaking past the curtain. Lying under the covers, I’d grown too warm, and now I was soaked by perspiration. My mouth was dry, and my eyes were scratchy. Again people laughed, this time right outside the window. I got up and peeked out through the curtain. Two couples were there, kids about my age. One girl putted the ball up the frog’s tongue, but didn’t do it hard enough. The ball rolled back down, setting off more peals of laughter.

  I left the window and turned on the ceiling lamp. The bulb was dim, and the room too vast to be lit adequately. A low, gray illumination, almost too weak to make shado
ws, covered everything. Except for a slight mussiness on the bedspread and my few things—the pile of clothes, the Piggly Wiggly bag, the box of shoes—the place looked unused.

  I went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, studying myself in the mirror above the sink. The mirror was broken in one corner and had a ragged, glassy edge that made me uncomfortable. I needed a shower, but that could wait until I decided on my next move. But what would that be? I was alone, abandoned with nothing in the world but $70, maybe $80 if you counted what was left of the money I’d brought. I suddenly realized how much my idea of running away had depended on Elro. Together, it was almost an adventure. Alone, it was—what? More craziness?

  I went back into the room. It was important to stay orderly—orderly and reasonable. Maintain patterns, as Mrs. O’Brien would say. Something would come to me. I’ll unpack my bag, I thought. No, that’s stupid, not enough clothes in it to bother unpacking. I’ll sit on the bed and write a letter. No, that’s stupid, too. Who can I write to? What can I say? I started spinning slowly, inspecting the room as if expecting, with each half turn, to find some doorway or sign that would lead me to my next move. Bureau, bed, window, door. Bureau again, bed—suddenly I had an idea: I’ll get some cigarettes. I’d never smoked before, but this was an occasion. Things had changed, and I might as well have a new habit to go with my new situation. Besides, Bunny used to say that smoking helped her focus.

  I got dressed quickly and fished in my pocket to make sure I had a few coins. Then I took the key from where Elro had left it on the bureau and went outside. It was a nice night, moonless and starry and noisy with bugs. Five or six cars were parked along the walk, pointing at their owners’ rooms.

  I walked down to the motel office. It doubled as the office for miniature golf, and one side was cluttered with putters and boxes of colored golf balls. The bald man who’d watched us before stood behind a counter, reading a newspaper. To his left, on a table at about the level of his knees, a television threw off a flickering light. Gunsmoke was playing to itself. I walked over to the man, and he looked up from his paper. He had a wide, flat face to go with his bald top. His eyes were so far apart they seemed to come at you from two different directions.

  “I want to buy some cigarettes,” I said.

  “What kind?” he asked dully.

  “Luckies.” Bunny smokes Luckies when she smokes.

  He searched under the glass counter. He had rows and rows of cigarettes and candy lined up, cigarettes on the top shelf, candy on the bottom. He picked out a pack of Luckies and set it on the counter.

  “And a Turkish Taffy,” I said.

  “What kind?”

  I studied the display. The tall, thin Turkish Taffy packages, each flavor with its own color, were fanned out like a hand of cards. The man must have a wife, I thought. “Strawberry.”

  He took out a red package and put it next to the Luckies. I handed him a quarter and and a nickel, and he dropped them in the cash register. On Gunsmoke, Kitty was telling Matt that a young man, a stranger, had been in the saloon that afternoon, asking about him. She talked in that throaty way she has, with her head thrown back, so you can’t quite tell if she’s flirting or teasing or just acting normal.

  I scooped up the candy and the cigarettes and started to leave.

  “Where’s your husband?” the bald man asked.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Your husband.”

  “Oh. He had to go. He’ll be back.”

  “We don’t want any trouble,” the man said.

  “Oh, no. No trouble at all.” I jammed my left hand into my pocket and backed toward the door.

  “See to it you’re gone in the morning.”

  “Yes, we will be. I promise.”

  “We don’t want any trouble.”

  I started out the door and then stopped. “Say, can you tell me, does a bus come through here?”

  His eyes bore in on me from both sides. A stupid question. Why didn’t I think? “I thought you said your husband was coming back,” he said.

  “Oh, he is, but he’s got to get his truck fixed, and I’m supposed to be in Chicago tomorrow for my mother’s birthday. She’s turning sixty, and all her kids are coming from all over the Midwest. I can’t miss it, and I thought, just in case.…” So simple. He didn’t believe a word of it, but even before I’d finished, his eyes were drifting back to the paper.

  “Down the road half a mile. In Fullerton. A bus depot.”

  Back in room twelve, I sat on the bed, propped up against the headboard, and smoked a Lucky. I sucked the smoke in and swirled it around my mouth. It was hot and sharp and tasted bad, but I liked the look of the cigarette between my fingers. With my wrist bent and my fingers straight, I practiced sweeping my hand through the air, leaving a thin trail of smoke. I’d never been pleased with my hands, but, holding a cigarette, they looked almost pretty, I thought.

  After a while, the smoke made me dizzy, so I put out the cigarette and chewed off a piece of the Turkish Taffy. Then I took the old, ankle-high shoes out of their box. I ran my fingers along the shiny sides and over the smooth, leather soles. Finally, I slipped the shoes on. All the lacing took several minutes. When I’d finished, I stretched my legs out on the bed to admire the results. I hadn’t really noticed before, but the shoes didn’t quite fit. They were long enough, but very narrow—left over, I guess, from a time when feet, like people, were more delicate. I took the shoes off and set them beside me on the bed. They were best for just looking at.

  Then I sat back and puffed on another cigarette. I’d go to Milwaukee, I decided. I’d take the bus in Fullerton, and when I got to Milwaukee, I’d find find a room at a cheap hotel, and I’d get a job as a waitress. I’d live alone, and they’d never find me. I’d be too quiet. They’ve probably stopped looking for me anyway, I told myself. I was gone now, and that was what mattered. Bunny would care, of course, but she’d bury herself in Eddie or some other man, and I’d become a distant memory, a light bill she forgot to pay, an old book she’d read once. She was right—she was like a drinker that way, a love-aholic, loving away her memories. Tom might care, maybe Tom. Maybe I’d see him again sometime. But as for the others—it was funny, really. In re M.C. was supposed to be about me, and yet, in the end what happened was that I got to know them: Mrs. O’Brien, the Vernons, Sergeant Tony, Reverend Vaughn, Sissy, Elro, even Ruth, poor Ruth, with her two heads touching—it seemed I saw them all so clearly now.

  I stubbed out my Lucky. I’ll go to Milwaukee, become a waitress like Bunny. Live alone. I’ll always be alone. That’s the way, the only way.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  It didn’t happen that way, of course. Nothing turned out as I’d expected, though, for a time, for a couple of weeks, I thought I’d managed to work it out. Everything went by so quickly, however, that now it hardly seems worth mentioning.

  Early the next morning, I slipped out of the motel and walked the half mile into Fullerton. I found the bus depot in the center of town and caught a nine o’clock bus heading east. Shortly after noon, I stepped onto the streets of Milwaukee. I remembered Reverend Vaughn’s talk about his first moments in Chicago—about his feeling that a whole new world had opened up. Nothing like that happened to me. For one thing, Milwaukee didn’t look like Chicago; it didn’t even look that different from Katydid. The buildings were small and the streets quiet. There was none of the honking and pushing and yelling I think of when I think of the Loop. Mostly, Milwaukee just looked neat and empty.

  I wandered for a while and passed a hotel. I paused, but some men were standing around the doorway, and one man was sitting in a chair on the sidewalk. I decided to walk on. Later, I came to the Viking Hotel. A sign said “$6 A NITE—WEEKLY RATE $35. The lobby was barren, but clean, so I went in. A boy not much older than I stood behind the front desk. His face was scarred with terrible acne, and as he talked to me, he looked down at the counter with his chin tucked into his right shoulder. I gave him $35, almost half of w
hat I had left, and signed the register “Lily Richards,” a name I’d thought of on the bus. The boy gave me the key to room 43, on the fourth floor. The elevator was run by a very old Mexican named Will who had snow-white hair and dirty white stubble on his chin. He rode up and down on a little round seat that folded out of the elevator’s wall. At each stop, he hopped up and opened the elevator’s grate door, which moved with an incredible clatter.

  Room 43 was toward the end of the hall. A single bed with a prominent valley in the middle took up most of the space. There was a bureau, a chair, and a wash basin to go with the toilet and shower in the tiny adjoining bathroom. A window looked out on the tops and backs of several plain, brick buildings. I could lie in bed and watch pigeons dive and swoop from one rooftop ledge to another.

  The second day I was there, Will saw me carrying a newspaper folded open to the want ads. There were only a few ads for waitresses, and the places I’d called were looking for people with lots of experience.

  “Yob?” asked Will. “You wanna yob?” He pointed at the paper and I nodded. “My son restaurant, very beeg.” He shrugged. “Maybee wash deeshes, maybe wash floor.” With his arms held out, he bounced from foot to foot, doing an imaginary dance with a mop.

  “Okay,” I said.

  He stopped the elevator between floors and taking the ballpoint pen and the newspaper out of my hands, he scrawled an address over the newsprint. “Numero seex booss,” he said.

  I thanked him, and after going back to the bus station to find the address on a map I took the number six bus to Will’s son’s restaurant. The ride took almost an hour and led, finally, to an industrial area of big, windowless buildings and smokestacks puffing out grayish fumes. The restaurant turned out to be the American Diner, one of a couple of diners on the block. It had a long counter and booths along the windows.

  I got there in the middle of the afternoon, when the only customers were a couple of men, sitting far down the counter, whispering together and sipping coffee. Will’s son, Lou, was behind the counter, going over figures in a book. He was dark and compact and wore a white counterman’s shirt. I told him that I was looking for a job and that Will had sent me.