Almost Eden

by Anita Horrocks

  Here was my chance. All I had to do was say, “Then tell me what they’re doing.”

  “I didn’t hurt anything,” I said. “I opened Mom’s window. It was closed and her room was like a tomb in there so I opened her window. What’s the big deal?”

  I expected him to yell or something. I expected him to maybe slam his fist on the table and tell me to smarten up, that I was too old to act so childish. I expected him to tell me that I was grounded again. I was ready for it.

  He didn’t do any of those things. “There’s no big deal, kidlet,” he said, shaking his head. “Sometimes I wonder if she should be in there, too.”

  That’s the one thing I didn’t expect him to say. “I’m sorry you hurt your wrist,” I blurted.

  It was after supper, when Auntie Nettie stopped by and she and Dad were downstairs talking, that I got an answer to the question I’d never asked. Part of an answer anyways. The grown-ups thought I was outside, but I snuck upstairs and listened by the air register.

  At first they talked mostly in Plautdietsch and I was just about ready to give up. And then I heard Dad’s nimbly voice say in English, “The headaches are worse than ever.”

  Auntie Nettie answered, “Ach.” I could almost see her shaking her head. “That’s what the shock treatments do, not?”

  The stupid hot tears started pouring out of me again. I didn’t even know why I was crying.

  For once I wished I’d kept my big nose out of it.

  Dear God,

  What are they doing to Mom in that place? What are shock treatments? Is that why she was sleeping in the middle of the morning? She could do that at home.

  They’re supposed to be making her better, but I don’t think they are. I really think they need your help, God. I don H mean to be pushy, but are you going to get around to helping Mom soon?

  I guess I should say I’m sorry for swearing so much today, even if it was mostly in my head. Only I don’t feel very sorry.

  Amen.

  I didn’t feel much like praying tonight. I didn’t feel much like sleeping either. My mind was still too wide awake yet, wide awake and thinking about shock treatments.

  Were they trying to shock Mom out of being sad? How did you do something like that?

  Maybe you could tell a shocking story, one that was really scary. Or wait until a person came around a corner and jump out at them, yelling. Or dump a pail of cold water on them when they opened a door.

  I kept thinking over and over again of all the ways to shock a person.

  That way I didn’t have to think about the one way that made me want to throw up.

  The day started out top-of-the-summer hot. And then got hotter.

  I’m talking road-melting-in-front-of-you hot. Can’t-walk-barefoot-on-the-pavement hot. Bike-tires-sink-into-the-asphalt hot. The kind of hot where you get out of the pool to suntan but in two minutes your skin is burning and you have to jump in the water again. The kind of sticky, wilty, dripping hot where you lie in bed at night with no covers, wearing nothing but underwear and still stick to the sheets.

  Pray-for-a-thunderstorm hot.

  Dad said I should take a few days off until it was more bearable again. But I painted for a couple of hours early in the morning anyways, because what else was there to do and because I liked painting.

  First thing after lunch, Lena and I went looking for Tommy. We checked up and down the alley on our way to the pool. We checked between the stacks in the lumberyard at the end of the block where Tommy sometimes liked to hang out. We even walked along the railway tracks, checking to see if he was hiding out in the ditches maybe.

  “I bet he found a girlfriend, or some old lady who likes cats,” I said. “He’ll be back. He takes off like this all the time, not?”

  Lena chewed on her lower lip, a sure sign she was worried. I wiped the sweat off my face. Right now all I wanted was to go for a swim.

  The pool was crowded already by the time we got there. Even the parking lot was full. Lena grabbed the one empty spot in the bike racks and ran off to find her friends. It took me a while to find enough room for my bike. I was wedging it into place when a shrill, angry voice close by nearly made me jump out of my skin.

  “You just come along with me! Right this instant.”

  There was Mrs. Friesen maybe a dozen steps up the slope, coming around the corner of the fence and headed my way. I ducked behind my bike, like I was fixing the chain or something.

  “Don’t you try playing dumb with me, young man. I saw you take my son’s money.”

  Curiosity got the best of me. I lifted my head just enough to peer over top of my bike seat. One look at Mrs. Friesen was enough to make a person fall to their knees and pray for salvation on the spot. She was hauling a scrawny, half-naked Mexican kid by the wrist. The kid’s eyes were ready to pop right out of their sockets. Mattie and Jonah were hiding behind their mom.

  A trickle of sweat tickled as it ran down the middle of my chest.

  “Hand it over,” Mrs. Friesen demanded. She held out one hand, waiting, never letting go of the kid’s wrist with the other.

  “I-I find da money, lady. Yust dere.” The kid pointed beside the sidewalk and stuttered something in Plautdietsch.

  “You know very well my son dropped it,” she said. “Taking money that doesn’t belong to you is stealing. Stealing is a terrible sin. People who steal go to jail.”

  Terrified, the kid dug in his pocket with his free hand. He fished out some change and held it out. Mrs. Friesen grabbed it. But she didn’t let him go. She stayed clamped down on his wrist and gave it to him still more, about how God had seen what he did and how he must ask for forgiveness or God would make sure that he was punished.

  The boy mumbled something in Low German again. He was so petrified he probably forgot how to speak English. Probably he belonged to one of the Mexican Mennonite families that came up to work in the fields every summer.

  The look he was giving the kids in the pool pretty much said it all. It was a blistering hot day and he wanted to go swimming. Only he didn’t have a quarter to get in. I bet he thought it was his lucky day when he saw that money lying in the grass. But instead of a nice dip in the pool, he’d got Mrs. Friesen threatening him with eternal damnation.

  “I never steal nothing,” the boy pleaded, trying to pull away. “Please, lady.”

  Mrs. Friesen shook him a little. “Didn’t steal it, indeed. Don’t let me catch you near my boys, again. Is that clear?”

  The second Mrs. Friesen let go of his wrist, the kid tore off. I heard a truck start up, and then a dirty, battered pick-up pulled out of the parking lot and headed down the park road behind me. For some reason I ducked deeper into the row of bikes. By now my legs were all pins and needles. They needed to stand up already but I had to stay scrunched behind my bike while Mrs. Friesen fussed over her monsters yet, warning them to stay away from boys like that. Finally they headed to the pool. It seemed like forever but the whole thing probably only took a couple of minutes.

  No big deal. Except…

  One time I watched my cousin skinning some mink that he’d trapped. First thing he cut up the mink’s back legs to its tail, working the fur off. Then he hung the mink up by its back feet and just sort of sliced here and sliced there and then peeled the pelt back whole, like taking off a sock inside out. The skin came away that easy, too.

  I felt like I was that mink, watching Mrs. Friesen–who sat up front in church every Sunday and taught Sunday School and everything–watching her chew up and spit out that little kid who only wanted to go for a swim. Like I was the one turned inside out.

  I was still feeling sick about it when Jillian and Sadie showed up at the pool together, pretending nothing had changed. Only they laid out their towels with Aaron and Pete on either side. So then I made myself into a robot like Mom, a robot that found a spot to sun tan beside Joy, and smiled brightly at Jillian and Sadie while they talked about what a great time they’d had at the lake. I could pretend nothi
ng had changed, too.

  Even if everything had changed.

  My best friends were now best friends with each other and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. I wanted Aaron to like me but he didn’t. I wished Mark didn’t like me but maybe he did.

  In school last year my teacher, Miss Gerbrandt, caught me passing a note to Aaron one time. It wasn’t about anything, and it wasn’t like I was the only one who was passing notes, but I was the one who got caught. She sent me to stand in the hall, then came out and told me I was way too young to be thinking about such things as boys.

  “I don’t want any more of this nonsense in class, understand?” she said.

  How can a person be too young to think about boys? If you’re thinking about them, then you’re thinking about them. A person doesn’t go looking for thoughts like that. The thoughts are just there, in your head. You think what you think.

  If I could stop thoughts like that I would because they send messages to other parts of a person’s body and make a person feel weird. Which is okay I guess, if the person you like likes you back. But for sure it isn’t so nice if he doesn’t.

  Jillian and Sadie hadn’t been grounded. Maybe they hadn’t told their parents even. I hadn’t told Dad yet. Now that I’d waited this long, I figured I might as well not bother. Maybe he wouldn’t find out. Except not saying anything was sort of like lying and lying was definitely a sin. Especially when you were lying to your parents. That was like breaking two commandments at once.

  My list of sins was getting pretty long. Lying, stealing, being jealous, fighting, swearing, thinking impure thoughts. No wonder God wasn’t answering my prayers.

  And now there was this. What I’d seen in the park didn’t seem right. I couldn’t make it fit with what we learned in Sunday School. If a Christian wasn’t always a good person, did that mean good people weren’t always Christians?

  Reverend Funk says God is love. But then the reverend and even the Bible say that to be saved from eternal hell a person has to accept the Lord Jesus Christ as their savior.

  Even in Hopefield I knew that not everyone believed in God the same way Mennonites did. I knew about Jews and Muslims and Hindus and Buddhists and Catholics. Were all the people who believed differently going to hell? Did everyone have a different God, or were they all the same God with different names? What made Mennonites right and everyone else wrong?

  What about people who didn’t believe in God at all?

  Would God really damn people to hell–even if they were good people like say, Ghandi–just because they maybe grew up believing something else?

  I was suddenly shivery inside and out even if the temperature was over ninety degrees already. A terrible thought crept into the back of my mind. It was so terrible I pushed it back out before I could finish thinking it even.

  A thunderstorm grumbled all around us most of the afternoon, but it never got close enough for the lifeguards to make us get out of the pool. I wished it would rain, a real downpour, and scrub the whole world clean like it did for Noah.

  Conditions favored it, but instead the storm blew around us.

  Dear God,

  There’s a lot to talk to you about, so much that I don’t know where to start. First thing, though, I’m sorry I’ve been mad at you the last couple of nights.

  Beth and Lena and I still fight sometimes. When you miss someone so much like we miss Mom, even when you try to understand why that someone isn’t there, you really don’t. And it makes you feel kind of crabby so then you have to be mad at something and usually it’s pretty easy to be mad at your sisters.

  Dad’s wrist is almost better. And he was so happy with how good the garage looked he said I could paint the house, too, if I wanted. So if you had something to do with that, thanks.

  I don’t know what to think about Mrs. Friesen. I know it’s wrong to steal and everything. Still, I’m pretty sure Mrs. Friesen didn’t act like a good Christian today. At least she didn’t speak softly or with love. I didn’t hear too much forgiveness in her voice. It’s just that she’s supposed to be a good church member and everything, but for sure she isn’t a person to eat noodles with.

  I’m sorry for having such bad thoughts about people. I know Jesus said, “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,” and that’s not me. I guess Christians make mistakes, too. I don’t know why it bothers me so much, about that boy. It just does.

  One thing I know, Mom would’ve given him the money so he could go swimming. She’d probably have bought him an ice cream to boot.

  Mom almost seemed a little better when I went to see her today, except she had a bit of a headache. Maybe they gave her another treatment this morning.

  Please take care of Mom, God. And help me to understand how it could be your will for her to be sick. If you make Mom better I won’t even care that Jillian and Sadie hate me. Well, maybe I’ll care, but I’ll try not to.

  One more thing. Please take care of Tommy, wherever he is. I’m a little worried about him.

  Maybe, if it’s not too much trouble, you could give me a sign of some kind so I’d know you were listening.

  Amen.

  Dad gave Tommy away.

  I didn’t find out even until this morning, after Tommy had been gone four days already. I might not have found out at all except I told Dad I wasn’t going to paint that morning so I could look for Tommy instead.

  Dad looked confused. “I told you already, you don’t need to worry about that old tom anymore. He’s living the high life with a farmer north of town.”

  Only he hadn’t told us already. Four days, and this was the first he’d said about it. He’d forgot. It wasn’t like he was trying to keep it a secret or anything. He’d just forgot.

  Honest to God, I think he was surprised when Lena started to cry.

  “Nah meyahles, simmer down. There’s no reason to get yourselves all worked up over it. Tommy’s better off in a barn with other cats. There are plenty of mice to chase. It’s warm in the winter.”

  My whole body was shaking, I was so mad. I couldn’t speak, I was so mad.

  “Jumping Jehoshaphat! Would someone please tell me what all the fuss is about?” Dad said. “Most days you can’t even remember to feed it!”

  “His name is Tommy!” I said. Lena crawled under the table to cry her eyes out.

  “It’s not like I took it out and shot it. I was doing the damn cat a favor, giving it to Nickel Enns.” Dad shook his head. “I’m going to work.”

  Figures, I thought. The kitchen was pretty quiet after he left. Beth handed Lena a bowl of cereal and let her eat it under the table.

  “Dad’s right, schnigglefritz” she said. “Tommy’s better off on a farm. He was filthy and probably full of fleas and worms and who knows what else?”

  “As if.” I gave her a withering glare as I shoved my chair back from the table. “You knew. You’re just as much to blame.”

  “Vite dee!” she snapped. She had to be pretty pissed off to talk Plautdietsch. “I’ve had it to here with your lousy attitude. You’re the one who couldn’t be bothered to put out a bowl of milk half the time.”

  I stomped outside. I went into the garden and there were no ripe tomatoes yet but I yanked a green tomato off and threw it as hard as I could against a hydro pole. And all the time I was swearing under my breath, calling Dad every dirty name I could think of in both English and Plautdietsch.

  The worst thing was, Dad and Beth were right. I’d done a lousy job of looking out for Tommy and now he was gone and it was mostly my fault. What would Mom say when she got home? It wasn’t enough that I’d got her all upset in the first place so she had to go to Eden, now I’d messed up the one thing she’d asked me to do yet.

  I tried painting for awhile, even though it was going to be too devilish hot again to paint for long and my heart really wasn’t in it.

  So I painted Tommy’s name over and over again with the creamy siding paint, smoothing it over each time before moving on to the next boar
d. Every time I smoothed it out it hurt, like he was gone all over again.

  Lena came outside and hung around, watching me. I could feel her eyes on my back while I painted, which bugged me and made me want to turn around and slap her.

  “Can I do that, too?” she whined.

  “No. You’re too little.”

  “Please? I want to paint Tommy’s name, too.”

  “Go play next door.”

  “No one’s home. Pretty please? With sugar on it?”

  I gritted my teeth. “I said no. Why don’t you just get lost once?”

  “I hate you.”

  “I don’t give a care.”

  She threw something at me, a clump of dirt from the garden. She missed by a mile, but the dirt hit the siding that I’d just finished painting.

  “Now look what you’ve done!” I pounced, grabbing her shirt before she could escape. “Clean it up.”

  “Make me.”

  That did it. I wrestled her to the ground and sat on her, pinning her arms with my knees. I didn’t plan to hurt her or anything. There was a better way to teach her a lesson. “Just remember, you asked for it.”

  Flicking my middle finger against my thumb, I knippsed her nose, like I was playing knippsbrat only hitting her nose instead of a disc. Not hard. Just enough to sting a bit. Just enough to drive her crazy. Knippse, knippse, knippse.

  She shook her head from side to side, but then I just squeezed my knees against her head so she couldn’t move.

  “Let go!” she screamed.

  Knippse, knippse, knippse.

  “Pppleaase” she started to sob. “I’ll clean it up already.”

  Knippse, knippse, knippse. Only I was more gentle now, because I was starting to feel sorry for her. “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  I let her go, keeping a good grip on one arm in case she tried to run away. But she took the rag I gave her and started to wipe off the mess on the siding, still sniffling.

  “You missed a spot,” I pointed with my paintbrush.