We were up in our bedroom after we found out about the apartment, lying on our bed with a candle burning beside us. Ruby lit candles sometimes, so he could pretend we were glamorous lovers straight from television. He had his radio playing softly so he could hum along.
“Let’s you and me get that apartment,” I said right out to Ruby. “We are going to go nuts living in this house one more minute, you know that?”
He grinned at me and picked his nose. “Baby,” he said, “maybe them old people have a lawn mower, you know, the kind that looks like a puny tractor?” Ruby made a sound like he was a car revving up. He got out of bed and started putt-putting around the room.
“We’ll have to be so careful with our money,” I said—I called out louder so he could hear me. “You’ll have to work at Trim ’N Tidy regularly.” I didn’t mention that he was going to have to quit spending money on dope. “But picture you and me and Justy, I could cook you suppers . . .”
I thought to myself, Finally we’ll be like other people. All the cute couples we had seen at our childbirth classes came to mind. I couldn’t stand the time we’d wasted bickering with May. Our mistakes seemed obvious all of a sudden, the solution clear.
Ruby came to me on his pretend mower. He came up to the edge of the bed, and he said what I was thinking. He said, “She’s gonna croak when she finds out”—he stuck his tongue out like he was a goner.
“She ain’t gonna croak, Ruby. She might act like it, but we can see her every day. Stillwater isn’t far.”
It was the first time we had mentioned May in months. She wasn’t our favorite topic. He parked the mower by the closet and climbed into bed. He had to laugh as he wrestled my shirt off and then kissed my chest and neck. I let him do what he wanted. I was imagining our new kitchen with cereal bowls stacked neatly in the cupboards and teacups set on the table, in case company dropped by.
When I told Daisy our plans on the phone the next day she said, “It’s about time. If I was you I’d be on the mental ward by now. I can’t imagine me and Bill living with my old ma.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I hope you send Justy to me and lock yourselves in that apartment for a week, not see one single soul. That’s what me and Bill did up at the Dells for our honeymoon. We didn’t hardly leave our motel.”
“We ain’t exactly millionaires, Daisy,” I sassed at her. “We’re going to have to work, you know.”
That night, when we were sitting at the table eating supper I looked at Ruby to get my courage up. I stared solemnly into his eyes and at his chewing mouth. Then I put my spoon down and cleared my throat. “Well, Ma,” I said, “looks like at the end of December Ruby and me have a chance to move to our own apartment.”
She said I should wipe Justy’s mouth, that there was applesauce on his cheeks. I knew every word she was and wasn’t going to say to me in this situation. She didn’t have any new tricks stashed away for surprises this time.
“Ma. Did you hear what I said?”
She looked over at me, as if she had just come out of a dream, and she said, “You ain’t going nowhere.” She got up and cleared the plates. I wasn’t even finished with my meat loaf yet.
“December thirty-first,” Ruby said, and then he went into the living room and turned up the television.
I sat following the scratches on the table, examining them thoroughly with my fingertips. I didn’t notice May until she stuck the rag in front of me, meaning, Wipe the table. When I tuned into her she was saying, “How am I going to take care of the chickens and the house? Look at these hands.”
I had only seen those hands half a million times. I didn’t have to look at them to know their shape.
“I’ll have to sell the house,” she said. “I’m telling you, you ain’t gonna get a single cent from the sale.”
I surprised myself by the sound of my voice mumbling, “The whole world is not set on doing you wrong, Ma. You’re doing battle with yourself.” I didn’t look up to see where the thought had come from, or if she was stunned. I said, louder now, “We’re moving at the end of December, so don’t be startled when we’re gone.”
I walked out. I didn’t want to hear her popping the lids off of all her pill bottles. Naturally we never said another word about the move after that.
A few days after we broke the news to May, when Ruby and I were getting up in the morning, Ruby said, “Baby, I’m feeling so sensational lately. I know I got perfect health, if you don’t count my leg.”
I sure had the notion we were turning over a new leaf.
Sometimes I have to pity May a little, because her Matt went off and she’s got nothing, only Justy and her job at Trim ’N Tidy and me. Plus God and her trip to heaven. All that doesn’t stack up to much. There is no one who loves her except Justy, and he doesn’t actually love her. He’s only used to her.
The day I’m working toward wasn’t so very long ago. I’m about to tell how it went so everyone will know. I’d like to think it won’t happen again. Once is enough for the whole earth. It shouldn’t recur and if I tell about the day, step by step, people can understand certain warning signs. Then nothing like it will take place again, not ever. I imagine, when I’m sitting here, that I’m ringing a bell, and someone will hear, but to tell the truth, I also know that it isn’t very often that people change their ways. Still, I have to ring the bell, keep it sounding.
I figured that we could hold out until Christmas. It was a miscalculation, the largest I ever made. I was going to work so hard at being friendly. I figured we’d stay until Christmas because I felt sorry for May, decorating a scruffy tree she hauled in from the woods, with the balls she has in the attic—the ones with half the paint worn off. The picture of her hanging the angel, all by herself, made that old lump come into my throat. It was a task we always did together. I’d hand the floss doll up to May while she kneeled on the highest rung of the stepladder. Sometimes life gets so pitiful it’s tempting to lie down and play dead. But I knew if we tried we’d have a nice Christmas together. I’d make a special effort; I’d tell Ruby not to buy Justy any dangerous toys, and then after the celebration my boys and I would start the new year out in our own home. There was a part of me that didn’t know if I could make the move. It was a high squeaky voice that mocked me. I always put my hands to my ears; I didn’t want to hear the voice that said “You’ve never lived on your own, you aren’t smart enough.” I talked back. I said “I’ve got enough intelligence, and May will only be ten minutes away. It’s not like we’re going to China. If I need to walk up to the plateau, Ruby can drive me over. We won’t be so far from nature.” And there that voice was saying, “You can’t do anything right. You make scalloped onions out of tulip bulbs.”
I told myself that with Justy May was bound to be over at our place every day. We’d still need her to baby-sit. I had the feeling we could be like girlfriends. I’d cook her supper while Ruby mowed her lawn. I pictured May and me trading recipes over the phone.
The third Sunday in November, right around the time shaggy-haired Charles Manson came up for parole and Prince Charles celebrated his thirtieth birthday with his 350 favorite dates—May loved that man, even though he was unemployed, because he still lived with his mother—we woke up to the sun streaming in our windows, the kind of winter sunlight that doesn’t have one speck of gold in it. I had a secret for Ruby, a secret I had been waiting for the right moment to tell him.
“Hey, Ruby,” I said. “Guess what?” I petted his sleepy head on the pillow. He opened his eyes, stared at the sunshine as if he was about to say, What the hell is that glittery stuff on the floor? Sometimes his expressions made him look like he didn’t know there was a world outside of the riddles in his head. He stretched; he didn’t have anything on, and his chest hair stuck out from the covers.
“You and me have a present for Justy,” I whispered to him.
“Oh, yeah?” he said, yawning.
I turned over to him and kissed him. “You think Justy�
��s going to like being a big brother?”
Ruby’s eyes flared up to an enormous size for a second. He didn’t say a word because the news was so serious. He was glad though, I could tell. He stared at the ceiling without moving while I started talking about our times together when Justy was small and we sat on the couch counting his ten toes. I nudged him, reminding him how we thought it was such a miracle that he came with all ten. My breasts were so tender and heavy I figured I was already almost three months pregnant. It was Ruby’s fault for not using the balloons to cover himself up. I felt sleepy and slow half the time, as if I didn’t have a brain, and some foods, fried eggs for example, made my stomach take nose dives.
I tried to ignore the fact that my body was changing, see if it might snap back to its former shape. I didn’t feel anything about having a baby until I told Ruby. But when I recounted Justy’s first months I remembered again exactly how happy we used to be. I knew we were lucky to have a second chance.
Ruby got sweet and careful with me, lying in bed. His fingers began following the brown stripe I had running down my belly from having the first baby. His fingers were moving along my swelling body—and then one thing and another. I imagined little goat kids chasing down the hall, butting each other, bleating so gaily. Strange visions flashed before me, of Japanese people sitting cross-legged on the floor, and then the goats charging into their tea party. Sometimes it’s impossible to know if your brain really is functioning as it should. The sun streamed into the room, right on top of us, rocking along with us, as if it came to say, “This is the day the Lord has made, rejoice and be glad in it.” All the sunshine made the room seem noisy, along with the sound of Ruby’s oaths and groans.
When we went downstairs May was feeding Justy breakfast. Of course she said, “Where have you two been? Justy’s starved.”
She slammed the dishes down on the table—fortunately they were plastic so they didn’t usually break—and she muttered, “I can’t imagine what you was doing up there for so long.”
“Please, Ma,” I said. I felt like getting down on my knees and begging her to have a personality transformation. I might believe in our Maker pretty quickly if presto, May turned into Phyllis Diller.
Then we sat at the table and ate breakfast together, the church-going family. May made us pancakes and I fried up sausage and cooked some brown sugar syrup. It tasted so good I couldn’t stop eating. We ate, feeling the pleasure in the delicious food. We licked our chops and begged for more. We couldn’t wait for May to flip the pancakes and toss them on the platter. Justy kept saying, “Hi, Mommy,” and wanting my attention. His words warmed me, made me feel as if the sun had come from under a cloud and was shining on my face.
May was hardly finished when she jumped up and went to look at the clock in the living room. She yelled from right in front of the television that we better hurry, because it was about time for church. I got Justy dressed in his corduroy pants and his plaid vest and tie, so he looked like a little man. He had eyelashes from somewhere, who knows where, because none of us have eyelashes to speak of. Ruby’s are blond and invisible, and I got mine burned off one time when I lit the pilot light. I loved dressing Justy and watching his blue eyes and the fluttering lashes.
I put on a dress Daisy gave me. I get the clothes she doesn’t want any more. They make me feel like it’s Halloween and I’m dressing up to be the farthest thing from myself. Her dress had a white background, decorated with gigantic green shamrocks. It was jersey fabric, not actually intended for winter use. I had to wear a turtleneck underneath for warmth and because the dress had such a low-cut neck. I put on nylon stockings and my new winter church shoes. Ruby didn’t get dressed fancy for church. He didn’t own a suit coat. He put on a clean sweater and his shiny beige slacks. They hug his rear end so you can see its exact shape. May was the one who always got dolled up. She had a few dresses from right after World War II. There was a rose-colored suit with a tight skirt, in particular. It had little slits up the sides. She wore a fox head at her neck that some great-aunt had given her. It had paws too; Justy loved to pet that poor old fox.
I could hear May and Ruby down in the kitchen while I dressed, having a spat. What else would it be? She asked him why the whiskey bottle wasn’t full. Ruby said he didn’t know, maybe she drank some of it in her sleep; maybe Dee Dee got trashed on it. May said she didn’t think so, she thought Ruby drank it up. I could hear him saying, “Ma, I’m a new man”—that about made her have a cerebral hemorrhage the way she laughed in her forced hoarse laugh, and then had to cough. But I could see how Ruby might feel new. It made me proud, moving to our own house with a baby on the back burner. He wanted people to know he was starting over, that life was going his way for a change.
We were the last ones in the church, which isn’t anything novel. The choir was already singing their opening number when we sneaked into the pew. Justy went down to the children’s school where they cut out and glue pictures of Jesus. Ruby and I stood close together, touching all down our bodies because of the baby coming, and because we were remembering the morning in our bed. We had been tender with each other. I smiled shyly at him, thinking about the frisky goats eating out of rice bowls when his fingers stroked me as they sometimes do. His face, in church, was pink, like cooked ham, perhaps from the cold winds and the effort it took to sing out with his strong sweet voice.
The Rev was on the subject of eternal life—that was a big one with him. I took in everyone’s wardrobe while he droned on. Mrs. Crawford showed off her green wool suit, the one she bought in Austria. She travels to Europe every summer. She no doubt has a bundle in her bank account. I was imagining myself in a suit like that, with the velvet collar and cuffs, when I heard the Rev say, “We shall not die but live.” He said the phrase several times, to let it sink in, in case people weren’t listening. It echoed in the church, bouncing off the wooden ceiling fans. “We shall not die but live.” It echoed on when Ruby sang “For the Beauty of the Earth,” praising the Lord like what he had was all the bounty, like he loved not only me, but everyone. He looked like he had the power to make nations peaceful. He was flushed and his eyes sparkled. It was a sight to see Ruby singing, clutching my hand because we’re married and our boy is down in the basement wearing his best clothes with the other little children. I bit on my offering envelope to keep from crying.
At the end of the service we sang “Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow.” I like to think of a river full of blessings, gushing along, it’s spring and the water is high and fast. I loved the words “from whom all blessings flow.” Then we shook hands and said, “Peace,” to our neighbors.
Afterwards we trooped downstairs, as usual. It was Mrs. Brierly’s turn to make the refreshments. The entire congregation was waiting, smacking their lips, while she unpacked her coffee cakes. Everyone says they’re the best in the town. They weren’t your ordinary Sunday morning treat; it’s as if Betty Crocker made them herself, with our congregation in mind. I told Mrs. Baker some of the cute things Justy’d been up to, because she came to me and asked about him. He was with us, playing with the children, chasing around and screaming, but that’s what toddlers do and everyone thinks it’s all right. Until, of course, one of them trips and scrapes his knees, starts to howl. Then they’re supposed to settle down and find their parents. Ruby watched Justy running; he saw every move heard every shriek. He wolfed coffee cake. The look on Ruby’s face was as if he had already entered the kingdom of heaven and it was beyond his wildest expectation.
May said to Ruby, “Get Justy from them pack of kids.” She signaled for me. It was time to be home so she could check the roast. On the way back Ruby sang the Doxology over and over, trying to get Justy to repeat the words. May told him to sing another tune, she was sick of that song.
I looked up, something made me do it, and along the road, high on the telephone wires, was a row of blackbirds, hanging upside down, burned and dead. Their feet were still gripping the murdering wire. I gasped once, b
ut no one heard me. Isn’t that a miserable sight? I asked myself, and I tried to think of the words “from whom all blessings flow.”
When we got home I made boiled potatoes, first peeling them, and saving Justy the little raw pieces with salt on top, and May cut up apples and bananas for fruit salad. We were cordial with each other, working together on Sunday dinner. I went to find what Ruby was up to after I finished my duties. He was in the living room pacing back and forth, something I had never seen him do before, as if he had to walk all the ecstasy brought on by church out of him. The minister was on TV talking to Ruby, although the sound was turned down too low to hear. What we saw were his large fleshy lips and his outstretched arms. Still, we understood that his gesticulations were all about Jesus and salvation—certain people’s salvation, that is. I asked Ruby, “Do you feel all right?” and he whispered, “Sure.” He seemed to be praying as he walked, with the TV pastor.
“Did you eat too much coffee cake?” I asked.
He didn’t answer me so I said, “Well, come and have dinner. You’ll feel better. Go get Justy from the yard, because it’s time.” But May went and got him instead. She was beating Ruby to it. Then we sat down and ate like all families on a Sunday afternoon. “Pass the beans, pass the margarine, wasn’t Mrs. Brierly’s dessert good? I wonder what her secret is, real butter probably—with all them hogs they can afford it.”
The Book of Ruth Page 29
