A Figure of Speech

by Norma Fox Mazer

  “Long distance!” Valerie jumped up. She was bare-footed, wearing one of Vince’s shirts over a pair of tights, and had her hair in one long braid. “Vince, it must be my mother!”

  Trailing them up the stairs, Jenny imagined Valerie’s mother on the other end of the wire, saying, Come home, Valerie dear, we miss you … we want you to live with us, you and Vince … we have plenty of room for you, and lots of money to give you …

  Upstairs, Vince stood next to Valerie, his arm around her shoulder while she spoke on the phone. “Mom!” she said. “Oh, Mom …” She listened for a long time, nodding, and sometimes saying, “Yes, I see … Yes I understand … yes … yes … yes, I do, no I mean it …”

  Sitting at the table, Jenny mentally packed their duffels and cases. She threw in the bottles, the books, and the stuffed cats. She found out about plane schedules. She was at the airport, waving goodbye to them. So long, Vince and Valerie! Toodle-oo and bon voyage!

  Hanging up the phone, Valerie wiped her eyes with the tail of Vince’s shirt. “Isn’t that silly, crying?” she said. “But I couldn’t help it, hearing Mom’s voice.”

  “Is everything all right now?” Mrs. Pennoyer said.

  “Well, it’s better, anyway,” Valerie said. “They’re still not exactly thrilled about my being married, but I guess they’re starting to accept it.”

  “They want you back, don’t they?” Jenny said. “Are you going soon?” Vince and Valerie are gone. Grandpa is downstairs in his own apartment again. Jenny is knocking on the door in the morning. “Who is it?” Grandpa says grumpily. “It’s me, Grandpa.” Jenny comes in, he’s sitting by the window, she kisses his cheek …

  “I knew your folks would come through,” Vince said.

  “They must miss you a lot,” Jenny said. “I bet they really want to see you and Vince. When are you leaving?”

  Valerie reached for a piece of dry toast and nibbled it. “Leave for where? My father’s company is sending him to France for a year. They’re all going over, and my sister Felicia is going to school there.”

  “France,” Mrs. Pennoyer said. “How exciting.”

  “Then nobody’s going to be in your home,” Jenny said. So long!

  “Oh, sure there is,” Valerie said. “My parents have subleased their apartment for the year.”

  Jenny slumped down in her chair. What was the matter with her? Didn’t she know by now that Vince and Valerie had no intention of leaving, and that Grandpa wasn’t going to get back his apartment? Not now, not next week, not next month, not ever.

  Later that day, the junkman parked his battered pick-up truck in the Pennoyer driveway and hauled away Grandpa’s thirteen-year accumulation of newspapers. On the junkman’s heels a big red Salvation Army truck backed up to the cellar door and three men began carrying Grandpa’s possessions up the back cellar steps and loading them into the truck: the iron bedstead, the heavy old sideboard, the metal kitchen table with the enameled top, four wooden chairs, the bureau and mirror that had stood at the foot of the bed in the tiny bedroom, the old square mahogany victrola with the scratchy head and even the box of 78 rpm records.

  Everything is going, Jenny thought, watching the men, and for a moment she felt as dizzy as if she were falling through space.

  All that remained was the old Boston rocker with its flattened rockers that Mrs. Pennoyer put in Frankie’s room, saying she thought Grandpa would like something of his own there. The men from the Salvation Army truck were also going to take away the tiny refrigerator, but at the last moment Valerie pointed out that it could be kept in the cellar filled with soft drinks for future parties.

  Two men climbed into the cab of the truck. The third swung the heavy back doors shut and began fastening a chain. “Wait. Could you open it again?” Jenny asked. “Please?” she added as the man looked annoyed. The cardboard boxes had been loaded in last. “There—that one,” she said. “Could you push it over to me? I want something.” She snatched out Grandpa’s old black coat and held it against her chest.

  The man laughed. “Is that the new style?”

  Chapter 13

  One night, having crept out of bed to use the bathroom, Jenny saw a light on in the kitchen and found Grandpa there, wrapped in a blanket, drinking tea. It was two in the morning. “Jenny” he said. She sat down with him. His health was improving. He now resisted her mother’s efforts to keep him in bed or in the Boston rocker all day. Instead he shuffled slowly around the house, holding onto walls and furniture. At supper the night before last, Mrs. Pennoyer had said that she had never felt as tied down: she didn’t dare step out of the house even for five minutes because she worried so about Grandpa. What if something should happen to him? What if he started another fire? She’d never forgive herself, she said.

  “Have some tea,” Grandpa said to Jenny. He poured hot water from the kettle into a cup, spilling a little. His mouth moved soundlessly.

  Jenny put a napkin on the spill and watched the paper blot up the water. “Can’t you sleep, Grandpa?” She dunked her teabag up and down, then heaped in the sugar.

  “Just restless,” he sighed.

  Jenny put her hand over his. “Grandpa—” What could she say to bring him comfort? They’d taken away his home, and she couldn’t give it back to him.

  The next night Grandpa was afoot again. Mr. Pennoyer, lying in bed, heard someone move stealthily around the house and thought it was an intruder. “Who’s there?” he called, and leaping out of bed he banged into a chair, swore at the top of his voice, and woke most of the family. When he found out that the “intruder” was Grandpa, who looked astonished at all the noise, Mr. Pennoyer was furious. In the morning he was tired and irritable.

  “You prowl around like that often, Pop?” he said, rattling the morning paper.

  “Nights I can’t sleep, yes, I get up, walk around, try not to disturb anybody,” Grandpa said. He was slowly chewing a piece of dry toast.

  “I don’t want you to do that anymore,” Mr. Pennoyer said. “If you can’t sleep at night you can sleep all day, but other people aren’t so lucky. Other people have to go to work and need their rest. You get the message, Pop? You stay in bed at night where you belong.”

  “Well, I get restless, and my bones ache—can’t sleep so good—”

  “Count sheep,” Gail said.

  “I’m going to make sure you get a glass of hot milk before bedtime,” Mrs. Pennoyer said. “It’ll make you drowsy.”

  “I don’t see anything so terrible about Grandpa getting up sometimes in the night,” Jenny said.

  “The radio,” Mr. Pennoyer said, snapping his fingers. “That’ll do the trick for you, Pop.” The radio was Mr. Pennoyer’s own transistor set with a plastic earplug. “Instead of getting out of bed when you can’t sleep, Pop, lie still and listen to the radio. I do it when I’ve got something on my mind, and it has a nice soothing effect. So long as you keep that earplug in, no one will even know you’ve got the thing turned on.”

  Either Grandpa didn’t walk the next night or he did it so quietly that nobody knew. Mr. Pennoyer was sure the radio was working its soothing spell. “It works, doesn’t it, Pop?” he said. Grandpa grunted something that might have been yes or might have been no.

  A few nights later when Grandpa couldn’t sleep and was attempting to oblige his son by listening to the radio, the earplug jack unfortunately pulled out of its socket (perhaps Grandpa hadn’t put it in securely enough), and voices suddenly blared through the sleeping house. In the darkness Grandpa fumbled with the knobs, but because his hands were so stiff and clumsy he only succeeded in knocking the set off the bed so that it crashed to the floor with the frantic voice of the disc jockey announcing the next selection, “FOR MARCIA AND TIM, HEDDA AND VICK, AND RIMA THE BIRD GIRL …”

  Jenny came bolt awake at the frantically gay voice sawing through her dreams, Ethel began crying, and Gail sat up in bed, saying, “What is it this time? Is it that old madman again?”

  Jenny shoved her feet
into her slippers and ran for Frankie’s room. By then lights were turning on all over the house. “Sorry, Frank,” Grandpa was saying to Jenny’s father, who was clutching his pajama bottoms. “My hands, you know, they’re stiff at night—”

  “All right, all right,” her father said. “There’s always some reason, isn’t there? Go on back to bed, everybody.” He waved his arms. “Go on, Jenny!”

  “In a minute, Dad.” She went to her grandfather and bent over the bottom bunk. “Are you okay, Grandpa?” He lay back, closing his eyes, and nodded.

  “Jenny! Come on,” her father said. “I want to get back to sleep.” He snapped the light off and on, then off again.

  That Sunday Jenny and Grandpa found themselves alone in the house, and Jenny was delighted. Mr. and Mrs. Pennoyer had gone for a ride with Ethel and Gail. Vince and Valerie were visiting friends, and despite the rain Frankie was out running. There was no one to complain about Grandpa doing this or Grandpa not doing that. Jenny was sick of hearing the family grievances about Grandpa. She could recite them all, backward, forward, and inside out.

  She got out their deck of cards, made a pot of tea for Grandpa, and opened a bottle of soda for herself. Outside, cars sloshed by, headlights on to penetrate the gloomy rain. Sitting at the table across from Grandpa, Jenny thought it was almost like so many other afternoons they’d spent together—the standing lamp casting a sheen over the bare dark wood of the table, rain smearing the windowpanes, and the cards flick, flick, flicking in the silence.

  “Ha, ha! Gin!” Grandpa rubbed his hands together. He was dressed today, wearing baggy trousers, an undershirt, and the new cardigan Mrs. Pennoyer had bought him. The sweater seemed to irritate him and he twisted his shoulders uncomfortably every few minutes.

  A door banged below, then busy sounds came up from the apartment. Vince and Valerie were back. Jenny glanced at Grandpa. They never mentioned his old apartment or Vince and Valerie being there. Grandpa’s face was blank, too blank. She knew he had heard them.

  “Let’s play another hand,” she said. “I’ll be reckless. Penny a point.”

  “Profligate with your money, my girl. All right. Watch yourself now. I’m out for blood.”

  Time passed so pleasantly that Jenny was surprised when she heard the front door swing open. Mrs. Pennoyer came in, took off her scarf, and shook raindrops off her coat. “You two still at it? Better clear the table, Jenny, it’s nearly suppertime. Grandpa, you want to eat with us tonight? I’ve got a roast in the oven.”

  “Tray’ll be fine,” he said.

  “Still being stubborn, old dear?” said Mrs. Pennoyer, obviously in good humor, as she pinched his cheek. “Well, do as you will, it’s not my throat you’re cutting.”

  Gail came in then, carrying Ethel, and after her their father, toting a brown paper grocery bag. “Hot rolls, hot rolls for supper,” he called. His thinning hair had been plastered to his head by the rain. Ethel toddled to Jenny, who swung her into the air. Gail, looking at herself in the mirror over the buffet, said, “Guess where we went?”

  “Give me a hint,” Jenny said.

  “Gail,” Mrs. Pennoyer called warningly from the kitchen, “remember what I told you.”

  “Well, where’d you go?” Jenny said.

  “Never mind.” She tried to take Grandpa’s arm. “Want me to help you to your room?” Her tone was as sweet as if she’d never called him “an old madman.”

  “No need.” Grandpa shuffled slowly off toward Frankie’s room, moving his shoulders irritably under the new sweater. Jenny put Ethel down and wrapped a rubber band around the deck of cards. She took Grandpa’s cup and the empty soda bottle into the kitchen. “Where’d you go, Mom?” she said as she rinsed the teacup and dropped the soda bottle into the garbage can.

  “For a ride,” Mrs. Pennoyer said, taking salad makings from the refrigerator.

  “Where?” Jenny said.

  Mrs. Pennoyer filled a pan with water and set it on the stove. “We just rode around,” she said vaguely. “Looked at new houses and other things.”

  “Well, what did you see?” Jenny persisted.

  “Oh, not much. The rain and all, you know. But it was nice getting out.” She wasn’t going to say where they’d been, what they’d done, what Gail’s “Guess where we went” meant. “Set the table, Jenny. Gail! Gail, come here. Go ask Vince and Valerie if they want to share the roast tonight.”

  In a little while Vince and Valerie came up, their arms around each other. Valerie picked up Ethel and kissed her neck. “You’re the sweetest. Hope I have a sweetie like you someday.”

  “You will, you will, sure as time and the tide,” Mr. Pennoyer said. “Just make sure it isn’t too soon.”

  “Now Dad,” Valerie said, smiling, “don’t get personal.”

  “Vince—beer?” Mr. Pennoyer asked, going into the refrigerator.

  Frankie ambled in then and said he’d like a beer, too, and Mr. Pennoyer said no, positively not, Frankie wasn’t going to get a beer or any other drink until he was eighteen. “And don’t forget it,” he added.

  Vince winked at Frankie. “I got the same lecture at your age, kid, and look at me now.”

  “I heard the Burleys down the street bought a brand-new thirty-five cubic foot double-door freezer,” Mrs. Pennoyer said, testing the roast with a fork. “We could use a freezer, Frank. It could easily go in the cellar.”

  “I was thinking of buying a TV for our bedroom,” Mr. Pennoyer said. “Can’t do both right now.”

  “Yah, Daddy,” Gail said. “Two TVs! Did I tell you, Mom, that Sylvia Forrester at school has her own TV and her own telephone in her bedroom.”

  The talk flowed on, amiable, relaxed. Valerie and Gail set the table. Jenny transferred the margarine from its foil wrapping to a glass-covered dish. Mr. Pennoyer asked Vince to sharpen the carving knife, and Frankie was rapped on the hand for snitching a hot roll before they sat down. Jenny kept quiet and listened. In her mind, she was hearing Gail saying, Guess where we went … guess where we went … guess where we went … Something had happened this afternoon on that ride; while Jenny and Grandpa were sitting home, playing cards, something had changed. Jenny could sense it, feel it, nearly smell it, and she was sure it had to do with Grandpa.

  It was Gail’s turn to help with the dishes that night. Jenny bathed Ethel, then read her a story, covered her, put out the light, and closed the door. “Ja, Ja!” Ethel called.

  Jenny opened the door a crack. “What is it, honey?”

  “Stay!” It was Ethel’s new word, uttered in a firm, commanding voice.

  “I’ll stay right outside your door until you fall asleep,” Jenny promised. She closed the door again.

  “Ja, Ja!”

  “I’m here. Go to sleep,” Jenny said, leaning against the wall. Gail came out of the bathroom. “Have a good ride this afternoon?” Jenny said. “Have fun?”

  Gail pushed up the sleeves of her sweater. “Am I getting a pimple right here on my chin?”

  “Did Dad buy you ice cream?”

  “Sure.” Gail fingered her chin. “He always does. I had Hawaiian Pineapple.”

  “Where exactly did you go?”

  “We—” Gail put her hand to her mouth. “We just drove around.”

  “You were going to say something else.”

  “I know I shouldn’t squeeze this,” Gail said, pressing the red lump. “How does it look to you?”

  “Gail! Where’d you go? The pimple looks like a pimple. Leave it alone and tell me where you went.”

  “Mom told me not to say anything. You heard her.”

  “I want to know where you went, Gail Pennoyer.”

  “Ask Mom,” Gail said. “I’m going to go look at this pimple. Maybe I should squeeze it.”

  Jenny caught her sister’s arm. “Tell me where you went,” she said, putting into her voice and her eyes all her caring, all of her need to know what they had been doing, and how it concerned Grandpa. “Tell me.”

  “We drove
around,” Gail said after a moment.

  “I know that. What else?”

  “Let go of me. You’re pulling my sweater all out of shape.”

  “You tell me and I’ll let go.”

  “You let go and I’ll tell you.”

  Jenny dropped her hand. “Now tell!”

  “We drove around and we looked at those new houses they’re building over in Vernon Acres and we had ice cream, and then …” Gail shrugged. “We stopped up on Snooks Hill where they have … where there’s this place, a home for old people called Castle Haven.”

  “Go on,” Jenny said.

  Gail worried her chin. “That’s all. We stopped and looked at this place, this Castle Haven, and Mom and Dad talked about it and said it looked like a real nice place for Grandpa. Real clean and neat and nice. And they said they’d go see it, maybe next weekend, and talk to the lady who runs it.”

  “If you’re lying to me, Gail Pennoyer—”

  “I’m not lying! I don’t lie. They talked about it. They said Grandpa is failing and he needs professional care—”

  “Failing,” Jenny said. She was burning with rage and fear. “Failing what? I didn’t know he had to take a test.”

  “You know what I mean. He’s getting to be too much for Mom with everything else she has to do. He isn’t the way he used to be, like he mumbles to himself all the time, and the way he wakes everybody up at night. And I heard Mom say that when he uses the bathroom he’s careless. He misses the bowl.”

  “Oh, shut up,” Jenny said inadequately. “Just shut up!” Misery had her by the throat. She walked away from Gail and locked herself in the bathroom where she sat on the toilet and, bent over, clutching her middle, thought about Grandpa and her parents and this place—this home, this castle for old people. Castle—oh, that was good, very good. Really excellent, she thought bitterly. As good as her mother’s calling Grandpa’s grave his “resting place.” Pretty words for ugly things! Grandpa hated those cover-up words, those figures of speech, and now so did she! Everything was a figure of speech to her parents—everything they didn’t want to think about—even Grandpa himself!