Joyce Carol Oates - Broke Heart Blues

by Broke Heart Blues(lit)

  It was a day to wear him out, a day of exhaustion. A good day.

  Before he'd left home that morning at seven-thirty a. m. he'd fed the mewing cats, scattered seed for the wild birds and dumped corn in a fifteen-foot trail for the white-tailed deer who waited hungrily at the edge of the clearing.

  He'd learned to spread the corn like this since otherwise, if he dumped it in a heap, the deer would fight one another for it, butting with their heads, slashing at one another with their sharp hooves. There were no bucks in the small herd but in their absence two or three does dominated, aggressive as males. And in the act of spreading corn from a plastic bag he happened to glance up to see several deer panic and bound away the orchard--what was wrong? What had they seen? In that instant felt a stab of panic himself, he imagined the back of his head, hatless, in a rifle scope, the hunter, his enemy, would be crouched at the corner of the barn having approached stealthily through a meadow, avoiding the where he would've been seen from the trailer.

  But John Heart gave no sign of alarm. Continuing his spread of the yellow corn-kernels as the rest of the herd, less skittish than others, watched with their grave, liquid-dark eyes. "Of course, it out to be nothing. My nerves. Probably they were spooked by a hawk"--he telling Nola.

  Except what could be his motive in telling Nola? Did he want the woman to worry that her ex-husband might kill him, or did he want her to know that he, her lover, wasn't worried in the slightest?

  No. Keep your mouth shut.

  There was no hearing in family court that morning. Nola had returned to teaching her classes. Later in the day she was to meet in her attorney's office in Oswego with Jordan Leavey and the two attorneys, directed by to work at a settlement. Nola had protested in the judge's office, "Your Honor, it isn't possible, we've been over and over the same--"

  her attorney interrupted, saying quickly, "Your Honor, my client yes. We'll certainly try." Furious, shaken, Nola called John, called him several times, leaving messages on his machine, at 6,40 A. M. his phone rang in the trailer and, guessing it would be her, John answered it, Nola hadn't been able to sleep most of the night, she said, she was trying to hide her agitation from the children, she'd assumed that her ex-husband's preposterous demands would simply be rejected by family court, what was she going to do? "I really I could kill him. could kill him! Imagine--1, a junior high English teacher, mother of two, a perfectly ordinary, civilized woman, a not-mad woman, kill another human being." John was impressed by the vehemence of Nola's but wasn't sure how to reply. She continued in her rapid, excited voice, telling him she missed him, she missed their nights together, she needed him, the hell with family court, if the decision went against her maybe she'd run away with Ellen and Drew as in some TV movie of the week, she could live in a van like a Gypsy, she could be MRS. FIX-IT, Ellen and Drew adored him, he was their MR. FIX-IT they adored and they always asking her when he was coming over, if he was having dinner them that night, she was convinced they were truly frightened of their father but frightened to say so. "I can only guess what he's telling them.

  them. If I could afford a better lawyer! If I'd thought this through better, at the start! He's just an Oswego attorney, specializes in child custody, he and Jordan's attorney apparently know each other, they might be in collusion, how would I know? The man gives me advice I haven't solicited.

  He's researched you. His aftershave is virulent enough to scare away mosquitoes.

  I'm wondering--could I sue for malpractice? And he's charging me hour! If I call him on the phone, it's billable' time! My and their parents can call me at any time, and they do, and I'm happy to speak with them, consider it my professional responsibility, andlike my students or anyway most of them, imagine--'billable time'! That bastard. All them.

  And the judge--'the Honorable Ms. Whitfield. She doesn't like me and I don't know why. have to admit, l'm hurt. l've been a damned good and my ex-husband is the one who's had the drinking problems, the 'abuse problems, I'd gotten an injunction against him when we were Lockport and all this is a matter of the public record, doesn't that ridiculous woman see? He's saying that I moved away deliberately so he has a drive, getting the kids, bringing them back, he wants them to him--can you imagine? What's best for the children'--as if these people, these strangers, could know what's best for my children. As if it could be that clear, that impersonal. As if what a frightened, confused child might say impulsively is what that child actually means--Jordan keeps saying the kids tell him We miss Daddy'--it breaks his heart to hear it' he says--and that's why he's suing me for custody, not out of malice or revenge, oh no, not out of sexual jealousy now he's seen you. John, they've actually of ours, colleagues of mine at school, for statements. Some source allegedly told Jordan's attorney that I see men'--'men stay the night'

  at my house. A man on a motorcycle'--'a man driving a van. A man with a ponytail. Can you believe it? It's been said that I don't take children to church. And Jordan does. Suddenly out of nowhere he's gotten religious-Lutheran. He and his mother, taking the children to church in Lockport, Sunday school, it's Mrs.. Leavey's church, she's sincere I suppose, a kind of well-intentioned woman, she and I got along very well until the started coming undone and now she's my enemy, she's enlisted this Lutheran minister Reverend Steinbach' whose remarks are actually quoted! John, am I losing my mind? This isn't me, honey, is it? You me, this isn't me. Did I tell you they've questioned Ellen's and Drew's teachers, and the baby-sitter--that little high school girl Linda!

  Judging me.

  Suppose Linda and I hadn't gotten along? Suppose I'd caught her stealing, or sneaking a boyfriend in--what then? Would I lose my children?

  can't believe this is happening. thought the custody arrangement was final. Jordan agreed--how can he disagree, now? I've been awake for nights.

  I can't work. want to cry all the time. Which is why I'm smiling constantly. Damn it, John, why do they accuse me about you, haven't I a right to--" She began to cry. John, pacing about in his cramped kitchen as he listened this long disiointed speech, felt a stab of love for the woman, and guilt, didn't know what to say but had to say something. "Nola? That was a long ago. was a kid, sixteen. was tried, yes it was for murder, and I was acquitted." Nola said excitedly, "I know you were acquitted, honey. I know all about it. I mean--I've seen clippings. I wasn't living in New at the time, I mean my family was living in Illinois, I wasn't aware of the case at all--'John Reddy Heart. I know you don't want to talk about it.

  that, understand. None of that is you. But--"

  "Yes?"

  "--you were acquitted, but--did you.7--'2 There was silence. John wanted to slam the down. What business is it of yours, you don't know me, you have nothing to do with me and my family, go to hell. He was shaken by his own reaction. He muttered, "Look, was acquitted. can't talk any longer right now." Since then, he'd kept in motion.

  A moving target.

  Johnny's grandfather kept promising, in defiance of Johnny's mother, another target-practice session with the. 45-caliber Colt revolver.

  But months passed, eventually years. The two never went out again.

  In Vegas, he'd been wakened by arguing in the next room, his mother's raised voice, he'd gone to investigate and saw Dahlia in one of her costumes, black satin, low-cut across her breasts, a miniskirt mid-thigh, high-heeled red shoes and textured stockings, she was wild-eyed, "I with Grandpa Heart for the gun--"Just let me have it, Pa, God you! I won't use it on myself, I promise." The heavy gun went flying out of their hands onto the sofa, bounced and clattered to the floor, Dahlia fiercely as she and her father lunged for it, but cunning Johnny, ten years old, whom they hadn't noticed, rushed to snatch up the gun, ran away with it into the backyard, both Dahlia and Grandpa Heart cursed him, "You, boy!

  You, Johnny! Get back in here now." He crouched in a ditch at back of the property, hidden in the shadows, thinking if they came out to get him he'd throw the Goddamned gun as far as he could into someone else's yard.

  But chasing J
ohnny in the middle of the night was too much for the Hearts, the excitement ended there.

  After a while, seeing the house was quiet, he returned. With the gun.

  Another time, Vegas. A dry scorching heat. The little rented bungalow on Arroyo Seco. The TV was on loud and five-year-old Shirleen was watching it in her rapt, staring way, seated eighteen inches from the grainy screen, and Farley was doing his homework at the kitchen table, Grandpa Heart was out playing poker and Dahlia was at her blackjack job at Caesars Palace Johnny drifted into the kitchen for a Coke, saw a lone can of Mexican beer at the back of the fridge and debated taking it, decided he hadn't better, just one would be missed. He returned to the living room and there was the TV loud as before, a jeep bounding over a desert landscape, machine-gun fire, and--where was Shirleen? He found her in their grandfather's room at the rear of the house, a room forbidden to the three children. She'd switched on the bedside lamp. She was holding, in both hands, 45-caliber Colt revolver. It looked like an oversized toy too heavy for a child to carry.

  Johnny broke out in a sweat. "Hey, Shirleen. Hey, no. Give it me, hon." He was in charge of these kids! Shirleen blinked at him calmly. She was an unpredictable, often obstinate child. Dahlia spent little time with her but Grandpa Heart brought her treats nearly every day, pockets of cashews and pistachio nuts taken from cocktail lounges on the Strip.

  Shirleen and Farley obeyed their older brother without resistance.

  He had a quick temper, like Dahlia's. Though he tended to be fair, even kind. He wasn't mean to them, or capricious or unpredictable like the of the family. But now Shirleen gripped the gun and smiled, a strange smile

  "I know what this is. know how it works."

  "So you know it's dangerous, huh? Come on." Johnny's legs were shaking as he approached his sister.

  He'd seen a gunshot victim only the previous week, carried away on a stretcher, his face and neck netted with blood. Damn Grandpa! --he. kept the gun hidden beneath his mattress, but everyone knew where it was.

  He'd promised Dahlia that it would be kept unloaded but somehow knew it was loaded. Clumsily Shirleen raised the barrel in his direction, she was holding the gun in both her pudgy hands, without a finger on the trigger, Johnny ducked and came at her swiftly from the side, the gun from her. He felt in that instant that he would never complain again in all of his life, God had blessed him! Not that he believed in God exactly.

  was a little adobe church up the street he'd sometimes drifted by singing inside... Johnny said, "If I was Mommy you'd be silly.

  You're lucky it's me." Shirleen giggled, sticking a thumb into mouth.

  Johnny wondered how she'd been able to pull the gun out from beneath the heavy mattress. Such a little girl. A strange little girl. He believed she was intelligent yet she behaved sometimes as if she was retarded, or hard of hearing. He spoke to her as you might speak to a dog, kindly no-nonsense.

  "Bad. Go on out of here now. You know better." She rushed past Johnny, who opened the cylinder as he'd seen his grandfather open it. His fingers trembled. Six bullets, dully gleaming.

  He told Grandpa Heart about Shirleen and the gun. He told Dahlia.

  They were both astonished. Grandpa Heart vowed it would never agam.

  Those years. His childhood in Vegas, fleeting images as in a film he'd only seen and had not experienced. That kid not himself.

  Street-wise, a smart-ass, dark-tanned as a Mexican. Somehow stronger, smarter, stubborn and more desperate than he knew himself to be. By the age eleven he'd begun to be obsessed with keeping the Hearts together for it seemed to him that anything could happen at any time to break them up.

  He was not the only child of his acquaintance in the neighborhood who worried about his family, what remained of his family, but he himself to be the one canny enough to do something about it. It won't happen.

  It won't!

  Not the way his father had vanished. If he, Johnny, couldtve prevented the plane falling out of the sky. Possibly it had been "sabotaged." Struck by missiles. God's wrath. An explosion, flames. Fire and smoke trailing the sky. He looked up, hearing jets overhead. Flying in formation. The follow the plane, and would cut to the ground to the terrible crash. Dahlia had begun to say, when she'd been drinking, that their father had brought it on himself, so proud of being an Air Force pilot.

  You were punished beforehand for what you hadn't understood you would do until you did it.

  Dahlia understood, she and Johnny were on the same wavelength.

  on speed which was her truest self. Alcohol fuzzed her up, made and delicious and ready for love but speed sharpened her intellect like a razor. Eyes glowing like coils on a stove. I know I'm damned to hell.

  I can't help it. Someday one of them will kill me, I'll have to accept that.

  says in the Bible 1. the whore gets what she deserves. The bad mother. They'd beaten her, some of the men. The ones she'd liked best. But none of them had killed her.

  How many times after they'd left Vegas for their new life, he'd never kept track, she'd call him from taverns, motels in Buffalo and Niagara Falls and one memorable night from U. S. Customs & Immigration at the Peace Bridge after her friend Mr.. Skelton sideswiped a railing on the bridge and had to be taken away by ambulance. Johnny, help me! Come get me!

  time was the last time, she promised. Possibly it had to do in way with him. For he had girls of his own now. And women. Even before he driver's licenhe to legally drive the glitzy Cadillac Eldorado she'd given him, that fantastic car the color of a blazing neon peach. He shaved, often twice a day. His thick black sideburns grew into his cheeks. His eyes thicklashed as a girl's. His genitals swelled with blood. His penis like bloodsausage hot and hard to the touch. But Dahlia was wary of Johnny now. He's slap her hand away, and he wouldn't laugh. He locked the bathroom door so she couldn't intrude half-dressed, her hair in eyes. Still she teased, she rolled her mascaraed doll-eyes. Mmmm Johnny Heart!

  Tell the family why every girl in this Village is chasing after you.

  Farley, overhearing, blushed crimson. Shirleen blinked and stared, smiling with clumsy as if she caught on. Johnny slammed out of the room. Fuck you, Mom!

  Mom laughed in his wake, Sweetie, I wish.

  The Belle View Motel on Niagara Falls Boulevard where he'd almost died. If the beer can opener had sliced into his jugular vein instead of his cheek. He hadn't a driver's license yet, he was only fifteen.

  Driving through pelting rain at three a. m. praying he wouldn't be stopped by any cops. Cursing and sobbing. He'd never been to the Falls before by himself and certainly he'd never been there at night. In such rain. Couldn't the fucking motel, driving up and down the Boulevard, fuck her she must've babbled the wrong address. Terrified and whimpering over the phone. Johnny, help me. I made a bad mistake. He isn't the man I thought he was he's going kill me I'm so afraid Johnny will you bring Grandpa's gun? When at last he found the motel, went to room eleven and she opened the door an inch, hair face, haggard-looking, stinking of sweat, sex, whisky, she Where's the gun? Where's Grandpa's gun? and he told her he hadn't brought it for Christ's sake. He tried to pull her out of the room. His car was running. She was barefoot, in black bra, black half-slip and stockings. Gusts of hail like machine-gun fire raced across the asphalt parking lot.

  A crimson neon sign blinked moronically overhead BELLE VIEW MOTEL LUXURY

  18 & $25 WITH POOL. Dahlia balked, cursing him. Out of the darkened room behind her a man suddenly rushed at Johnny, cutting him in the face. They fought, he managed to drag his mother out into the Caddie and skidding and swerving they escaped. Don't you judge me God damn you you have no to judge me.

  Those years. He'd been a high school student, a basketball player.

  Worked after school as an apprentice carpenter. None of it was very real to him. Only the family was real to him. He was tired much of the time, exhausted. Never got enough sleep. Could've slept for ten, twelve-hours at a X stretch and sometimes he fell asleep at the high school, leaning h
is forehead , against the aluminum locker and nodding off on his feet even as his fingers turned the combination lock, laying his head down abruptly on his arms at his workbench in shop class and dying, it felt like dying. What was the teacher's name, Hornby--poking him cautiously to wake him. Where would've yelled at another boy. John? Hey. You O. K. ? (It was believed he was a heroin addict. One of his friends informed him. ) They watched him as you might watch an upright snake. Fascinated but wary. The nice boys, the nice girls. Dahlia hadn't had to warn him not to fool around with any of those girls. He went home never knowing what to expect. Entering the "Edgihoffer mansion" to--what? Farley who came home directly from give him a dour report. Unless there was nothing to report. For sometimes, to be truthful it must'be been most of the time, things were all right at the Hearts'. Most of the time their mother was fine. A woman of energy, passion, cunning intelligence and a fierce self-devotion he was never to encounter in any woman, or man, afterward. Dahlia Heart was certainly a terrific-looking woman, people stared at her in the street, her dazzling platinum-blond hair, her impeccably made-up movie-star face. Sheerly an invention. But an invention-like a fine-tuned auto that worked. Why're you frowning at me like that, Johnny? Think you've got the right to pass judgment on me?