Almost Eden

by Anita Horrocks

  “And it was my idea for all of us to help make a division,” Lena piped up, squeezing between me and Jillian.

  “Diversion,” Sadie whispered.

  “I mean a diversion,” said Lena.

  Dad ran his hand through his hair. Pretty soon he wasn’t going to have any hair left. “I think I’ve heard enough.”

  Only there was still a little more he had to listen to. Mom put her arm around my shoulders and said, clear as a bell, “Isaak, I know how all this must look. But, we’re here now. I for one would like to see all those stars Elsie’s so excited about. You can take me back to the hospital after.” Then she said something else to Dad, too, only she said it in Plautdietsch.

  All around me I could hear my friends suck in their breath, waiting.

  “Everyone in the car,” Dad growled. “Now.”

  How many kids do you think can fit in an old Chrysler New Yorker?

  Eight in the backseat for sure, sitting on each others’ laps. And Lena in front, sitting on Mom’s lap. With one cat yet, Domino, curled up on Lena’s lap.

  “I didn’t have the heart to leave him at home by himself,” said Beth.

  Once everyone was wedged in and the doors were shut tight, Dad sat in the driver’s seat. He waited with both hands on the wheel and looked straight ahead. “Okay, Elsie,” he said. “Where are we going?”

  I practically leaped over the backseat to throw my arms around his neck. “It doesn’t matter. We don’t have to go far. Anywhere away from the lights.”

  He nodded, and started the engine. “I know a good place.”

  Mom reached over and touched his arm. He put his hand on hers and squeezed it once before pulling onto the road.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” said Beth. “You’re certifiable, you know that, don’t you?”

  I grinned back at her. “Probably. It runs in the family.”

  We stopped at a crossroads a little ways south of town. Mom said it was where her grandparents first lived when they came here from Russia. There was nothing left of the old village now, except a few trees beside the road.

  Beth found a blanket in the trunk. She spread it on the grass in the shallow ditch. Naomi, Eleanor, Joy, and Heather sprawled out on their backs on the blanket to gaze up at the sky.

  First thing Mom did was take off her socks and shoes. She said she needed to breathe and so did her toes. Mom and Dad sat on the trunk of the car, leaning against the back windshield. Sadie and Jillian sat on the hood. And on the roof, Beth and I lay back with Lena between us. Domino prowled across our stomachs.

  For sure this wasn’t anything like I planned. But we’d made it. We were here, out in the country under the stars in the middle of the night. Nothing else could go wrong now.

  Only the weather.

  For the first little while clouds kept blocking the view of the stars so you couldn’t see the whole sky all at once like I had that night at the farmyard. Every so often someone would squeal, “Ooo, over there,” and point to where the clouds had parted. And then we’d catch a glimpse, a patch of sky crammed with stars. A tiny bit of heaven.

  “This is pretty neat,” Beth said quietly.

  “Yeah. Not like that other night though,” I said. “The weatherman said it was supposed to be clear.”

  From the ground I heard someone snort.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Beth. Domino curled up on her stomach, I think because she wasn’t wiggling as much as Lena and her stomach was bigger than mine. “I thought you didn’t believe in God anymore.”

  Lying there staring up at the night I was thinking it was true, what I’d said that day. I could stop going to church if I wanted. I could stop praying. I could give God a different name if I wanted to.

  But I couldn’t just stop believing in Him. Even when I thought I didn’t, He was all the time in my head. Like Grandma said, I’d believed in Him all the way already since I was just little.

  “I guess I do after all,” I said.

  I kept waiting for the skies to clear. But instead there were more and more clouds all the time. All of a sudden the air cooled. And then fat drops of rain started plopping down all around us. Lightning flashed behind the clouds and a crack of thunder boomed right on its heels. We all jumped to our feet pretty quick, let me tell you. Only before we had time to get in the car, the clouds burst open.

  It didn’t just rain. It came down in buckets. Everyone was soaked through in seconds. Rain streamed through our hair and ran down our backs and dripped off our noses. In no time, rain filled the shallow ditches beside the road.

  No one seemed to care. We all grinned, water pouring off us. Except Lena. She stuck out her tongue to catch the rain. Even Beth was grinning, wiping her hair back from her face.

  Then Mom burst out laughing. She laughed like a little kid, surprised by something wonderful. She stepped away from the car, spread her arms wide, and laughed out loud, looking up to the sky to let the rain stream down her face. “Mein zeit!” she cried. “Oh my goodness gracious!”

  Whooping, Jillian jumped in a puddle. Lena squealed and ran, arms out, leaping and splashing. Beth rescued Domino, tucking the shivering kitten inside her wind-breaker.

  What the heck, I shrugged. We all ran and splashed and spun in circles. Jillian and I grabbed each other’s slippery wrists and twirled, around and around, rain glistening on our skin. Beth turned her face to the sky and opened her mouth, gulping down the rain.

  Even Dad let Mom grab his hands and pull him out into the road. They swung each other around, stomping and tromping and whirling back and forth until I had to stop and watch because, Holy Moses, I never knew my Mom and Dad could dance yet.

  Mom whirled toward me, collapsing with laughter. She reached out and hugged me hard.

  “I didn’t mean to make such a fuss over the stupid pajama party. I didn’t mean to make you sad,” I said, hugging her back.

  “You are my sunshine, Elsie,” she whispered in my ear. “You could never make me anything but happy. Don’t you ever forget that.”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I think maybe I was doing both. Rain streamed off my face, so it was hard to tell. There was something else yet I had to know. “What did you say to Dad? You know, back at the car before?”

  Mom laughed. “I said, when the heart is full, the mouth overflows.” And then we laughed harder than ever.

  Pretty soon the downpour fizzled away to a bit of soft, misty rain. We shook water from our hair and wiped it from our arms and legs and faces. The air was scrubbed as clean and fresh as the first day Noah stepped out of the ark.

  Dear God, I prayed. Thank you.

  I crept out of the house early Sunday morning.

  Lena was still snoring softly yet, her mouth open, her cheeks rosy with sleep. There wasn’t so much as a sound from Beth’s or Dad’s rooms. Everyone was making up for the sleep we’d lost the night before.

  We’d all been too excited to sleep, even after Dad drove us home. We showered and changed into dry clothes while Mom and Beth made hot chocolate for everyone, with marshmallows and everything. The sun was starting to come up, before we finally crawled into our sleeping bags.

  Then Mom had gone around and hugged every one of my friends. Me she saved for last.

  “Thank you for the adventure,” she whispered in my ear. “And you mustn’t worry about me so much. I’m getting better every day. I’ll be home–”

  “Soon Yeah, Morn. I know.” I did know. Mom would be home again soon. Maybe this time it would be for good even.

  There was a little smile in the corners of Mom’s mouth. “Nah yo. Into your sleeping bag, kindt. Everything comes to an end.” The smile spread to her whole mouth and she winked at me as she put out the light. “Except a sausage. It comes to two ends.”

  By the time we got up Saturday morning it was almost noon. Dad had taken Mom back to Eden already and smoothed things over with the doctors and nurses. He looked a little worn out from all the smoothing over, bu
t he was helping Beth in the kitchen anyways, cooking up a whole pile of waffles with chokecherry syrup. Then Grandma came over yet, wanting to know what was happening because she’d heard a racket in the middle of the night.

  “Just a little star-gazing, Mutta,” smiled Dad.

  “Ach! Since when do you watch stars in the rain?” she tutted.

  Dad just kept smiling. “Come. Sit you doy, O’Lloyd.” He pulled out a chair and gently pushed Grandma down into it. “You can eat breakfast with us.”

  “Breakfast?” she said. “Half the day already is gone!” Shaking her head, she heaved herself out of the chair, tied on an apron and went to work making her special waffle sauce. Everyone stuffed themselves with at least two waffles each–one with chokecherry syrup and one with waffle sauce. Then Dad drove us back to Eden to get our bikes, and my friends headed home.

  Except Jillian and Sadie. They rode back to our place with me, to help clean out Dad’s car. It was pretty gross from eleven wet people and one wet cat yet riding in it.

  “I don’t mind. It was worth it,” said Jillian. “That was the best pajama party ever.”

  “At least we never got chased by the cops,” grinned Sadie.

  Uy uy uy. One more thing still to tell Dad about.

  Probably I should’ve been tired out like everyone else this morning. Only I wasn’t. I woke up early, even though there was no chirping anymore because when I wasn’t paying attention the baby robins had grown up enough to fly away. All things come to an end, not?

  For a while I lay awake thinking. I remembered what Auntie Nettie had said the day we picked berries. Maybe God could be found in lots of places. In church sure, but lots of other places, too. Like at that farmyard and in the stars and the rain and…all kinds of places.

  I was starting to think that maybe God wasn’t what I thought He was before. I mean, it wasn’t like God was a person, someone you could touch and see and smell. Maybe God could even be more like a feeling inside a person.

  Sometimes that feeling of God inside could be strong, like it was when we were all laughing in the rain. But sometimes a person maybe had to work hard at finding the feeling inside. Like when Mom was so sad, she probably couldn’t feel God then.

  My head was starting to spin again so I got out of bed. This would be a good time to practice riding with no hands.

  I slipped outside, grabbed my bike and coasted down the back alley.

  There wasn’t much point in riding to the pool this time of day, so instead I turned left and rode all the way to First Street on the east side of town. Then I turned right and pedaled as far south as I could go, all the way to the highway that went to the States. Letting go of the handlebars, I took the corner right again, past the Sommerfeld Mennonite Church onto Valley Avenue. I could follow Valley Avenue all the way west along the edge of the town, until it came to Eden. I pedaled easily, the sun warm on my back.

  The first couple of blocks were no problem. Nobody was out on the road this early. There was no one to get in my way, no corners to go around. I had to dodge a pothole in the third block and another one in the fourth block.

  I edged over toward the middle of the road where there were fewer potholes. For the next three blocks I tried to stay as close to the center line as I could.

  Lena, I knew, believed in God sort of like she believed in Santa Claus. He was just always there, in heaven, watching over her. He knew even before Santa Claus did whether she was naughty or nice.

  Beth believed in God in a loud sort of in-your-face kind of way. Look at me, see how good I am? Though I had to give her credit. She wasn’t nearly as obnoxious about it lately

  A car pulled onto the road up ahead, coming toward me. No big deal. I just leaned over to the right a little until I was back on my side of the road.

  Auntie Nettie’s God was a not-too-serious kind of God and Grandma Redekop believed in a no-nonsense God. Dad acted like he didn’t care much for God, but really he did. Reverend Funk’s God was the scariest. His God was a fire-breathing dragon one minute and a gentle father the next. You never knew who you were going to get.

  Sometimes Mom’s God seemed a bit like a father who never thinks anything is good enough, who always wants you to do better, like get an A instead of an A minus.

  And then there was me. I didn’t know what kind of God I believed in.

  Up ahead was Eden already. I coasted to the corner and stopped. Fifteen blocks with no hands. I’d been too busy thinking to even make any wishes.

  I couldn’t really think of anything to wish for. Except for the sun to shine today, which conditions favored, because the sun was already shining. And maybe for Reverend Funk to do a good job of his sermon this morning and not talk too long, because Mom had a day pass and was coming to church with us. Then we were all going to Auntie Nettie’s for dinner.

  Anyways, maybe I was getting too old for wishing games. Everything comes to an end. Nah yo.

  Or maybe not just yet. I closed my eyes and made one last wish, something big that was worth using up a fifteen-block wish for. Then I gave Mom’s window a little wave and headed home. There was lots of summer left. Lots of bike rides and afternoons at the pool and pajama parties. Still one more coat of paint to put on the house. And at least one horseback ride this afternoon with Mark Giesbrecht. Who knew what all else? Anything was possible.

  So I wasn’t that surprised even, when I turned into the alley and coasted up to our house, to see Tommy sitting there on the back porch, waiting.

  I left my bike on the lawn and sat beside him, scratching behind his torn ear. He had a few more scars than before. And he was a little thinner maybe. But otherwise he didn’t look any worse for wear.

  “Voh scheent et, Tom-cat?” I said.

  He looked up at me and meowed. Loudly.

  “All right already.” I went inside to get him a saucer of milk, and maybe a can of tuna yet, too.

  Dear God,

  Thanks for bringing Tommy home safe.

  I’m sorry I didn’t pray every day for twenty-one days, or even give up bread and meat like I said I would. See, for a while there, I didn’t think I believed in you anymore. Now I know I do. I just have to figure out what that means.

  I have a lot of questions. Probably I’ll have a lot more yet, too. I hope you won H mind if it takes me awhile to figure things out.

  In the meantime, please watch over Mom, and the rest of my family, and my friends. And Tommy, too. Please keep them safe.

  That’s it for now, God. Except, in case no one has told you lately, it’s kind of nice to know you’re around.

  Amen.

  Plautdietsch, or Mennonite Low German, is a wonderfully evocative language. But many of its vowel and consonant clusters would be unfamiliar to readers and therefore difficult to pronounce. For this reason, I’ve tried as much as possible to Anglicize the spellings phonetically, so young readers can hear the language at least close to the way it is spoken. Even so, pronunciations vary among Mennonites from different areas. People also play around with the language, combining Low German and English to make up words. And as kids growing up speaking English for the most part, we often totally ravaged the Low German language with our crude attempts at pronunciation, sometimes intentionally.

  The correct spellings appear in parentheses in the glossary that follows. For these I’m indebted to Jack Thiessen’s Mennonite Low German Dictionary as well as the second edition of Herman Rempel’s Kjenn Jie Noch Plautdietsch? I’ve tried to be as accurate as possible. However, these sources are based on a different regional style than was spoken in the community in which I grew up, so I have made a few changes I felt appropriate. Any errors throughout the text or glossary are mine alone.

  ach! Oh!

  aus (auss) as

  baydel (Bädel) scoundrel

  bayn (Been) legs

  beksen (Betjsen) pants

  best (best) are

  blous gout (blooss goot) just good, only good

  bubbat (Bobbat) cake-lik
e raisin dressing for chicken

  dan then

  daugnichts (Daugnijchts) good-for-nothing

  daut (daut) that, it, the

  dayt (deit) does

  deevilschinda (Diewelschinda) devil. Schinda is a skinner, and the word is often used as a mild form of devil. The combination of two words referring to the devil is a vulgar reference.

  deh (dee) that; also he, she, him, her, they, them

  doa, doy (doa) there; doy is a family variation, part of longstanding joke

  dummkopp (Dommkopp) blockhead, fool

  du (d?) you

  em (emm) in

  en (een) a, an, one

  es is

  faspa (Vaspa) afternoon coffee or light lunch, a Mennonite institution

  ferekt (veretjt) crazy

  fuy (fuj) phooey

  gaunz totally, completely

  glommskopp (Glommskopp) blockhead, idiot; literally, “cottage cheese head”

  goondach (Goondach) good day

  gurknaze (Gurtjenäs) big nose; literally, “cucumber nose”

  hollopchee (Holloptsee) cabbage rolls

  Hallemoss! (Hallemos!) Holy Moses!

  hundt (Hund) dog

  kella (Tjalla) cellar

  kielke (Tjieltje) homemade noodles

  kint (Tjind) child

  klive (kleiwe) to scratch or claw

  knackzote (Knacksot) sunflower seeds

  kringel (Tjrinjel) pretzel-shaped, twisted buns

  knippsbrat (Tjnippsbrat) crokinole

  knippse (tjnippse) to flick the finger from the thumb

  knirps (Tjnirps) twirp, cocky little fellow

  kohta (Kohta) torn cat

  kressberren (Tjressbäaren) gooseberries

  lite (leet) sorry

  louse (looss) loose, untied. “Waut es looss?” is a common phrase meaning “What is wrong?” Literally, “What is loose?”