Keeping her eyes closed, Lily lay still. Her lungs filled with breath again as she felt the weight of Henry’s body lift from her. The sounds of shuffling feet grew distant, and Lily finally opened her eyes at the sound of the chicken coop door slamming shut. The force of the door created a draft in which the fly, suspended in its silken cage, was gently swinging back and forth, but now she knew it was dead for sure. She lay watching as the fly came to rest again. She lay watching, wondering how long it would hang there, rotting. Would she come back in a year, or five, and find it hanging there still?
She lay watching as the light from the windows moved across the back wall, hating the idea of staying, but unsure of what to do next. Finally, the clang of the cowbell rang out across the yard, signaling suppertime. Lily scrambled to her feet, inspired by her fear of being the last one to the table. Being late wasn’t as bad as being last. As long as people weren’t actually eating yet, you might be able to slip into your seat without consequence. But if you were last, and if dinner was already underway when you walked in the door, the entire clan proclaimed your doom by joining together in an a capella performance of the theme song from the Dragnet television show. Dum da dum dum... dum dah dum dum DUM. Suppertime was one of only two times of day when Lily’s parents could count heads, and you’d better be there. How could your father possibly enjoy his supper if you might be dead in a ditch somewhere?
As Lily pulled her shirt back down over her belly, she stuck her hand into a glob of milky goo that trailed down her stomach, pooling along the waistband of her shorts.
“Ewwwww!” she said out loud to herself. She raised her fingers to her nose and sniffed. It didn’t have a particular scent - at least not like that of things which were known for the way they smelled, such as fresh mimeographed paper, or raisin toast - yet it hinted of urine and sweat. She surveyed the ground where she had been lying. She looked up at the ceiling. Nothing but grime and dust and dead fly. She wondered where the goo could possibly have come from and whether Henry had gotten any of it on him. She searched the chicken coop for a rag, but the box that read, “cleaning rags,” contained only a rusted saw, a tire iron, and four wrenches.
Lily stepped out into the early evening air, now cooled in the waning light of the retreating sun, letting the front door of the chicken coop slam behind her and latch itself into place. She stripped several leaves from a limb of the peach tree and used them to wipe her belly. She tugged at her shirttail, wishing she were wearing a longer shirt or darker color shorts to better hide the wet spot. She would have to pass through the kitchen to get to the stairway, and now that supper was starting, there was no way she could slip by unnoticed. If anyone asked her about it, she would just say that it happened when she was getting a drink from the garden hose. Bending down, she wiped her hands in the cool grass, then straightened up and ran toward the aroma of meatloaf and broccoli.
All during supper, Lily stole glances at Henry, hoping to catch him glancing at her, too. She didn’t know what would happen if their eyes were to meet - if she would smile, if he would wink, how they would acknowledge the secret they shared. She consoled her sense of confusion with the assurance that she was special now, somehow. Henry had chosen her. She imagined him letting her play with his new tape recorder, and maybe singing songs by The Beatles into that microphone of his. Iris sure would be curious to know why Henry was treating Lily so special. Of course, Lily wouldn’t be able to tell her, since it was a secret, but if Henry ever gave her any candy or some of his old comic books, Lily would be sure to share.
“Mommy,” called Ricci. “Look at my food! Look at my food!”
“Just a second, Ricci.” Lily’s mother was at the stove, her back to the table, busily shuffling pots and pans, lids and serving spoons and potholders, with the skillful flow of a street hustler playing a shell game.
“Jeepers Cripes, Richard,” called Lily’s father. “Just eat the gosh darned food, will you?”
“No!” said Ricci, crossing his arms over his chest in defiance. “It doesn’t taste good until Mommy looks at it.”
Lily’s mother climbed over the bench and sat in the empty space next to Ricci. She leaned over his plate, and he watched as she looked at each item. “There.” She kissed his thick mat of curls. “Now eat.”
Maybe Henry was just waiting for an excuse to talk to Lily. After all, they had never had conversation during supper before. It would look suspicious if they suddenly got all chummy and started talking and laughing and stuff.
“William, stop touching me!” shouted Charles.
“I’m not touching you - I’m just reaching for the butter.”
“No - you’re pretending to get the butter, but you’re touching me, and you’re getting your cooties all over my food.”
“William,” said Lily’s father. “If you want the butter, ask someone to pass it to you - don’t reach for it. And Charles, calm down for Cripes sakes. Your brother has the same cooties you have.”
“Nuh-huh, poop-face!” said Charles to William.
“Uh-huh, doody-head!” replied William, offering Charles a quick slap on the arm, which started an exchange of slaps and excrement-inspired insults that stopped only when Lily’s father slammed the palm of his thick hairy hand against the surface of the table, snapping everyone into terrified silence.
Supper tonight was just like every other night, but it was like no other night. The noise and conversation swirled around Lily, but she didn’t feel a part of it. She just wished everyone would be quiet for a minute, so she could think. Her food remained untouched as she waited to catch Henry’s eye, to have his reassurance, to be loved by him again from across the table.
Noticing that he had just about finished eating, and fearful of missing her chance, Lily blurted, “Henry, could you please pass the salt?”
“Get it yourself,” Henry replied, without raising his eyes from his plate. “It’s right in front of you.”
Lily’s face grew hot, her eyes stung with tears and her gut swelled with a combination of William Nolan and Father Delaney and Alba Ichberg, but those were all bad things and this - well, this was love. It just seemed that at the very least, someone who loved you would be happy to pass the salt. What had she done between then and now to cause Henry to turn cold? Lily reviewed the sequence of events, but could not figure it out. If only she had stayed awake for the entire drive-in movie, then she would’ve known how to behave and Henry would not be angry with her. Lily wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand.
Lily’s father looked at Lily quizzically, then looked at the salt shaker. Lifting his buttocks off his bench a few inches, he reached for the salt and sprinkled her untouched meatloaf.
“There you go,” he said. “Now stop daydreaming and eat your supper. And have a bath before bed tonight, Lily - you look a mess.”
17. Iris
Iris felt miserable. It was unbearably hot and muggy, the most insufferable day she could remember ever, that summer or any summer of her life. The stagnant water of the murky pond repulsed her, but so desperate was she to rid herself of the sweat sticking to her skin and the swarms of mosquitoes feasting on her flesh, that she waded in anyway, and didn’t stop walking until the water was neck-deep. Flies buzzed around her head, mud oozed between her toes, gluing her in place and making her lose her balance when the hands startled her, pushing down on her head until she went under, and her mouth filled with muddy water. An eternity later, the hands finally let go, and Iris bobbed to the surface, coughing and sputtering. The water plugging her ears muffled the sound of her brother’s sadistic laughter as he swam away, his shape blurred by her myopic eyes. She wanted desperately to get out of the water too, but her feet kept getting stuck in the mud, holding her back though her arms paddled frantically. Finally dragging herself to the water’s edge, she fell to her knees in exhaustion, as her lungs coughed up brown liquid. Waves of nausea knocked her down when she tried to stand, and again she became mired in the mud, as a black snake slit
hered toward her, disappearing, then reappearing, then disappearing into the mud again. She opened her mouth to call for help, but no words would come out. Then the snake was inside her, writhing, twisting, strangling the most hidden parts of her.
Iris tumbled awake, confused and drenched in sweat as she lay on her side. She drew her legs close to her chest and rocked her body to calm the beast tugging at her bowels. She was relieved to be in her bed, but still she felt the snake squirming inside her, still she felt the pain, and the viscous mud sticking to her limbs.
“Lily,” Iris moaned.
“Mmmm,” Lily groaned.
“Lil-eeey,” Iris wailed.
“What’s going on, Iris?” Lily rubbed her eyes.
“I feel sick.”
“But school hasn’t even started yet.”
“Please, Lily. Can you just call Mom?”
“Sure,” Lily said, hopping out of bed, out the door and down the stairs in her bare feet. Just as quickly as Lily had disappeared, she returned. “She’s already gone,” she said.
“Great.” Just when Iris needed her most, her mother was out training for her new job. It sounded like she would be doing something good, helping poor people find work so they could take care of their families instead of living on government handouts. But did she have to do it now? And while her mother was out helping other people, who was going to help her?
“What hurts, Iris?” Lily asked, kneeling on the floor next to the bed. Her touch was gentle as her hand brushed Iris’s damp hair from her brow.
“My tummy. Everything. I have to go to the bathroom,” Iris replied, pulling herself up. Lily held out a hand to help her, and as Iris gripped it, she also grasped the sense of helplessness Grandma Capotosti must feel when she leaned on Iris for assistance.
“Hold on, you’re all tangled up,” Lily said, tugging at the crumpled sheet. “Geez, Iris!” she cried. “Did you cut yourself? There’s blood all over the place!” Iris turned to look, and to her horror, saw the sheets were soiled with bright red stains. She stared at the bed with a mixture of disbelief and disgust.
“Geez is right, Lily,” she said. As she spoke, a warm surge of liquid gushed from somewhere inside her, trickling down the insides of her thighs, down to her knees and ankles. Not knowing what to say or do, Iris shuffled to the bathroom, leaving a trail of blood on the floor, and Lily standing there, wrinkles of worry gathering on her forehead like storm clouds on the horizon.
Iris spent a long time locked in the bathroom, hugging herself and moaning. She had known this was coming ever since that day at Sacred Family when the nuns made the girls go to a separate classroom from the boys, where they were treated to a special lesson on personal hygiene. One of the girls found out from one of the boys that the males were taught about the benefits of underarm deodorants and frequent confessions at their particular stage of development, which seemed pretty simple compared to what the girls were presented with. Using a series of slides with diagrams of internal organs, Sister Brigida mumbled something about the miracle of monthly menstruation, but nothing specific about how it would make you feel and what you should do if you woke up in agony, all drenched in blood, and your mother was off doing training and your big sisters were out trying to make a few bucks at their summer jobs. Not that Iris would have had the guts to come right out and ask any of them what to do; certain topics were never discussed in their house, and what went on in the bathroom was meant to stay private.
Iris couldn’t figure out how she could go anywhere without making a mess, and would have sat there on the toilet all day, but for the thought that sooner or later one of her brothers would start banging on the door. By the time the next wave of cramps subsided, she had reached the only possible decision. She left the bathroom, taking the whole roll of toilet paper with her.
Lily was standing across the hall, in the doorway of their room, smiling. “Here, I got you these, Iris,” she said, proudly pulling out the box of Band-Aids she was hiding under her pajama tops. “Do you think they’ll help?”
Iris felt very weak, but not too weak to smile. “Thanks, Lily, but I don’t think they’ll do much good. Can you find me some underpants?”
“Sure,” Lily said, her expression clouding when her Band-Aid idea was rejected, then clearing again as soon as she was given a new task. She pulled open the underwear drawer, rummaged through it, then did the same with all the other dresser drawers. “I can’t find any clean ones in here, but ...” she said, as she began kicking at a pile of clothes on the floor. “Da-da!” She bent over and picked up a pair of white underpants, and waved them in the air. “These don’t look too used, but the elastic is kinda stretched out.”
“Better than nothing,” Iris said, examining the panties before deciding to put them on. “Thanks.” She unrolled several lengths of toilet paper, rerolled it around her fingers, then stuffed the wad in the underpants.
“You look like you’re wearing diapers, Iris. How are you gonna walk around like that?” Lily said.
“I’m not gonna walk anywhere. I’m gonna take the bus to Auntie Rosa’s,” Iris said, pulling on a pair of shorts, then a T-shirt. She put all five nickels left from her allowance money in one pocket and another fat wad of toilet paper in the other.
“Good idea. She knows how to give stitches and all that. I bet she’ll know how to fix you up,” Lily said. “And don’t worry about getting found out. I’ll wash the sheets while you’re gone. They were full of graham cracker crumbs, anyway.”
“Thanks,” Iris said. “You’re as sweet as a real Lily of the Valley.”
Pressing her thighs together, Iris hopped down the stairs, waddled out the door and down the driveway to the bus stop on the corner. Auntie Rosa always dashed home from the Medical Center at lunchtime to check in on Grandma, but she was always in such a hurry, that Iris knew she would have to tell her about her predicament right away, before she rushed back to work again. Iris feared she would puke as the bus jostled and bounced its way toward the city over the potholes of Chili Avenue, but by clenching her jaws and swallowing the hot saliva each time it flooded her mouth, she managed to resist until she reached her stop.
She got off the bus at the treeless corner by the gas station, took a deep breath, then waddled past the collision shop where she spotted Al the mechanic and his brother Hal, the body man, in the same identical coveralls they always wore. Together, they looked up from the mangled front end of a Ford Mustang they were inspecting to greet her. Al waved a soiled rag in the air, and Hal shouted, “Hey, Iris! Going to visit your grandma?” This was no time to stop and talk, with the danger of blood rushing down her legs as she stood there, so Iris limited her response to a quick wave and a forced smile. She wondered whether the men could somehow sense what had happened to her, the way the neighborhood dogs could tell when Jasmine’s poodle was in heat, and thought with regret that perhaps she should steer clear of them now that she was becoming a woman.
Iris was pervaded with nostalgia for her younger days, when Al and Hal had patronized the Kool-Aid stand she and Rita Esposito set up one summer day, strategically across from the collision shop. With an initial investment of five cents, they had bought a packet of cherry flavored drink mix, added water and ice cubes, a pitcher and glasses, and set everything out on a folding table of Auntie Rosa’s, then took turns hawking out their offer, at the price of two cents a glass. When the first pitcher was gone, they counted twenty cents on the table, which was well more than the five they had spent. They went on buying and mixing Kool-Aid all day, and even after drinking a number of glasses themselves, by the end of the day they had each earned enough to buy a big paper bag of penny candy from the corner store. That was the only time Iris had ever set up a Kool-Aid stand, and it was one of the last times she had spent a whole day playing with Rita, who still lived over in the old neighborhood. It all seemed so long ago, Iris thought, as a cramp caused her to double over, and she sat down dejectedly on the curb at the end of Auntie Rosa’s driveway, wher
e she waited until the siren at the firehouse wailed the call of high noon.
“Lover-dover! I didn’t know you were coming today!” Auntie Rosa called through the open window, as she parked her perfectly polished Ford Fairlane in the driveway less than five minutes later. Hopping out of the car, she wrapped Iris in a hug so tight the nurse’s pin on the breast of her uniform dug into Iris’s scalp. She still smelled good, but her usual perfume was diluted by the smell of disinfectant. “Bella della mamma! That hug really tickled my big toe! Now let’s go see how Grandma’s doing,” Auntie Rosa said cheerfully, leading Iris by the hand.
“Auntie Rosa?” Iris was stuck, like in her dream, except instead of mud bogging her down, it was the simmering blacktop of the driveway that glued her feet in place. She was thankful she had put sneakers on before taking the bus over.
“What is it, Lover-dover?”
“Um …” Iris thought the embarrassment would choke her, but if she couldn’t talk to Auntie Rosa, who else was there? If only she could find the right words to get started. It usually only took a few hints for Auntie Rosa to guess what was on Iris’s mind, and being a nurse and all, maybe she could tell what was wrong by looking at her. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Of course, honey. Let’s go on inside and see Grandma, and you can ask me whatever you want.” Iris knew that once Grandma got her hands on Auntie Rosa, there would be precious little attention left over for her.
The Complete Series Page 27
