He leaned forward and peered around George at Alice. Then he sat back again.
“That’s right,” he said. “Still alive, too.”
George stood. “I want you to get the hell out of here.”
“Now, George,” Petey said. “I can’t go anywhere with Coe like that.”
They looked at Coe. He lay sprawled in the chair, with his eyes closed. His face was flushed, and he breathed heavily.
“Wake him up,” George said.
“I couldn’t do that,” Petey answered. “He’s had a rough day.”
“Get the hell out of my house,” George said.
Petey stood and walked over to the blood-soaked rags. He held the shotgun loosely in one arm as he looked down at the rags and nudged them with his foot. Then he turned to George and Alice and shook his head. “It’s a shame what happens when you get careless,” he told them.
Petey motioned with the gun. “George,” he said, “I’d like you to move over this way a bit and have a seat, right there on the sofa. Move,” he said. “Now.”
He waited until George moved. “That’s better,” Petey said.
“For God’s sakes, what do you want with us?” Alice cried.
Petey looked at her a moment, then moved toward her. When he was inches away, he reached his hand out to touch her. She gave a cry and jumped back.
Petey swung the shotgun around, before George had a chance to move.
“Leave her alone,” George pleaded. “If you have to mess with somebody, mess with me.”
His voice was weak. His face, too, was childish, and she was ashamed for him.
“George,” Petey said, shaking his head. He shifted the angle of the shotgun. “I’m disappointed in you.” He looked at her. “I’ll bet Alice is, too.”
She felt something rising up inside her, ready to spill over. She would not cry, she told herself.
“Look, you’ve upset poor Alice,” Petey said to him.
“Go away,” Alice pleaded. “Just go away.”
Petey sat on the arm of the sofa. “I didn’t think you were a crier,” he said. He watched her for a while.
“That’s an awfully pretty dress you’re wearing,” he said. “Why don’t you move over there where I can see it better?” He motioned to the center of the room.
“Leave us alone,” she said.
“Right over there, Alice. You’re not going to be difficult, are you?”
“Do it,” George told her, in that terrified voice.
She moved to the center of the room and stood looking at George.
Petey turned so that he faced them. “I’ve got a wife,” he told them. He nodded. “That’s right.” He moved his hand and rested it on the shotgun. “I always felt bad, though, that I was never able to buy her nice things.” He nodded his head, thinking. “Like that pretty dress. Now that’s what I’d call nice.”
She turned her face away.
“What she wouldn’t give to have a dress like that,” Petey said.
“Please,” George said to him.
“I just thought of something,” Petey said. “Alice, wouldn’t it be good of you to give me that dress for my wife? Because she never had nice things like you?”
“I’ll give you money,” George said. “The car.”
“Alice, would you take that pretty dress off, please?” Petey said.
She was angry that she could not stop cr ying. She should have tried to get out the kitchen window when she was making sandwiches. She should have left before.
“Now, Alice,” Petey said. “Take the dress off now.”
George started from his seat.
Petey lifted the shotgun. “We don’t want anyone getting hurt, George,” he said. “Alice, do you want me to help you?”
She raised her hands to the buttons and looked at George. He shook his head at her, then turned his face away.
Something in her broke. She stopped the crying. She began unbuttoning the dress while she looked at George with a cold, hard look.
She could feel Petey watch her as she stepped out of the dress. She stood in her bra and half-slip holding the dress, not taking her eyes from George. He would not look at her. He was the one who had let them in. And now there was nothing either of them could do. The elastic stretched around her stomach, and she felt herself huge and exposed and grotesque.
“Come here, Alice,” Petey said to her in a low voice. “Give me the dress.”
She moved stiffly and handed it to him. His face was grave. “Still warm,” he said.
When he looked at her, she saw how deep his sickness went. “Right here,” he said. He pointed, high near her breastbone, then ran his thumb straight down over the curve of her stomach. “Like that,” Petey said.
“God, please,” George cried.
Alice stepped away from him. She was stone.
“George,” Petey said, keeping his eyes on Alice, “do you like her like this? You know what I mean.”
George didn’t answer.
“What’s it like?” Petey asked him. “How do you do it when she’s like this?”
“Oh God,” George cried.
Alice stood motionless. Everything was gone from her.
“Take your pants off,” Petey told him.
A strangled sound came from the boy.
Petey lifted the shotgun and flicked the safety back and forth. “I said take them off.”
Alice watched George take the pants off and drop them on the floor. He stood in his underwear, his legs thin and white.
“You want to kiss her first, don’t you, George?” Petey told him.
For a minute she forgot herself: He was coming to her, and she would comfort him. But then he gave her a dead, cold kiss and pulled away.
“Get her down there on the floor,” Petey said. “You can’t do anything standing up.”
George put his arms around her, awkwardly. She tried to look into his eyes, but he kept his head turned away. At last he got her on the floor. She felt the sides of her stomach fall in a little, and the baby move, then settle. It was such an odd thing to be lying there on the floor.
“Now get on top of her,” she heard Petey tell George. But it didn’t make any sense. They were in their underclothes.
“Watch out for that stomach,” Petey said, and he laughed.
And then George whimpered.
George was a big shot, her mother said, always in the middle of whatever didn’t concern him. When he came home late, Alice would have to listen to his stories of how so-and-so would have spent the night in a snowbank if he hadn’t come along; or how someone else would have blown his garage to kingdom come if George hadn’t noticed the gas leak. And all the while he was telling her his face got brighter and his voice louder while she would be thinking, I can’t stand my life. I am going to die right now from the emptiness of it.
“You’ve got to move,” Petey told George. “Show me how you move when you do it.”
“God,” George cried.
She heard Petey cross the room and sit on the arm of Coe’s chair.
And George was above her, crying, while Petey kept the shotgun on him. George held himself up with his arms, trying not to touch her. He kept his face turned away from her.
But she loved him. That, too, made her angry. If it was love. She didn’t know anything anymore. She touched his face, and he turned his eyes on her with such a look of horror that she drew back, stunned.
“George,” she whispered, but he had already left.
“I don’t think George really likes Alice,” Petey said to the sleeping Coe. “What do you think, Coe?
Petey crossed the room and stood over them a moment. He kicked violently at George.
“Get the hell off her,” Petey shouted. “Don’t you know anything?”
George crouched on the floor, away from Alice.
Petey stood over her. She held herself still, waiting for his next blow. He looked down at her, then over at George. Then he turned and went to the window.
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“Where’s your car keys?” he said.
George started to get up.
“I said give me the goddamn keys.”
George went to the phone stand and fumbled through things, until he found the keys.
Alice watched from the floor. She could not move. She was afraid to make a sound.
Petey grabbed the keys from George. “Put your pants on,” he told him. “You look like a jackass.”
George went to help Alice up, as if he were a stranger helping with her groceries. He sat her on the end of the sofa. When he reached for the dress, Petey took it from him. “It’s mine,” he said. “Remember?”
George found her a sweater. They could not look at each other. She let him hand the sweater to her, and she put it on herself.
Petey went to the window again. He turned to them. “I’ve got a problem here,” he said, his voice agitated. He sat on the sofa, facing Coe.
“What am I going to do with Coe?” Petey said. “And you, George? And Alice?” He looked at her. “You should be nicer to Alice.”
“Don’t hurt her,” George pleaded.
“Hurt her?” Petey said. “I’ve been trying to help her. You’ve got to stop wasting your time on her, George.”
Petey shook his head and looked around the room.
“She’s a little like Coe.” He laughed, then stopped. “Both more trouble than they’re worth.”
He leaned toward Alice. “Alice,” Petey called “Alice.”
She sat with her hands in her lap, enduring him. Her eyes fell on George’s boots, neat and polished, standing against the wall. Everything she’d ever wanted seemed so foolish.
“See?” Petey said to George.
He stood abruptly. “Do you have a gun, George?”
“No,” George answered, startled.
“Living out here in the woods like this with no gun? How about money? You must have some money.”
“I told you, I’ll give you anything. Just don’t hurt us.”
“Get the money, George.”
He emptied his pockets.
“This is pitiful,” Petey said. “I’ll need more than this.” George found Alice’s purse and took her wallet out.
She watched the paper bills flutter between them. “That’s all, George?” Petey asked.
“I’m out of work. I been out of work a long time.”
Petey shook his head. He looked at Alice and shook his head again.
He walked over to Coe and looked down at him, then turned to George. “Do you think we can trust Alice for a few minutes, George?”
“Don’t shoot us,” George pleaded.
Petey went to the phone. He picked it up and yanked, so that the cord snapped. “Get Coe,” he said.
George looked at the man, afraid. Petey motioned with the shotgun. “Pick him up, George. Get him out of here.”
George moved toward the unconscious man. He touched Coe’s sleeve and pulled back.
“Hurry up, goddamnit,” Petey yelled.
Alice watched George struggle to get the man from the chair. “He won’t wake up,” George said.
“Go on,” Petey told him. “Move.”
George dragged Coe to the door. He looked over his shoulder at her. “I’ll be right back, Alice,” he said. His voice was shaking.
She rose, as if to follow him. Petey opened the door.
“George,” Alice said.
“I’m coming back,” George said. Petey nudged George out and slammed the door shut after them.
She heard them trying to get Coe into the car. And then the shotgun went off. Petey called out, “You bastard,” then laughed. The car door slammed shut and the engine started. Then the car pulled away.
She stood for a long time, stunned, listening to the quiet. When she was finally able to move she went to the sofa and sat down across from the empty chair. The bloody rags lay nearby, and she could not take her eyes from them.
She’d known before she married him what she was getting herself into and she’d gone and done it anyway. There was something terribly wrong with her, she saw that now. She lay her hand on her stomach and wondered what in God’s name she’d been doing her whole life.
And then she heard him outside, and it startled her. She knew George was out there. But she didn’t know what she felt: relief or disappointment.
He came in and shut the door. She felt him standing there, awkward and embarrassed.
“Are you all right?” he said at last, so quietly she could barely hear.
“I don’t know,” she answered, without looking up. She couldn’t look at him.
She heard him move toward her, then stop.
She was alone. Even the baby was hers alone. She had tried so hard to make it seem otherwise.
“I thought he was going to kill me,” George said. He put his hand to his face and felt it.
She stared hard at him, until he finally seemed to notice her again. “I’ll go get help,” he told her. “I’ll get Tom.”
She shook her head. “I can’t stay here.”
He went and sat down in the chair across from her. “God,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “Jesus.”
“I told you,” she said. And she held her breath, waiting to see if there was anything left between them.
GLASS
When we put our oldest girl on the bus to Buffalo where she had a job waiting at the Western Union, it was like a big storm let loose inside me and stirred up a lot of hard things. She sat with her elbow propped on the window ledge, the back of her hand pressed to the window to keep her face from our view, refusing us even a look, even that much of a good-bye. It dawned on me that my sullen child was not running off to a bright future like other girls, but was going to meet some new kind of misery. The flood broke, all twenty years’ worth, for what I had done to her, what I had done to all my kids by giving them this hell for a life, which they would spend the rest of their days overcoming.
All because I said Yes. Yes I’ll marry you. Yes I’ll live in that godforsaken farmhouse that was so run-down it would have been an act of mercy if someone had come along with a bulldozer and plowed the whole thing under. And Yes I will live with your crazy brother, Carl, and your sister, Ruby, the worst Yes of all. It was love that blinded me, coming on so late in life. As if me wanting a little love was such a crime, something to pay for the rest of my life.
I looked over at Len. He had his hands shoved in his pockets, already turning back to the car, his head bowed, not in sadness over our scowling daughter who refused to wave good-bye, but in thought, figuring how he was going to get those thirty acres plowed when he’d just agreed to haul a load of Santini’s onions to the pickling factory down near the Pennsylvania line. I had no right to blame him, not even for leaving me and the babies alone with Carl, since it was his lot in life to work, with six mouths to feed and one thing after another breaking down as soon as he thought he’d got a chance to take a breath.
And I could not blame Carl, since he did not choose to be that way, a grown man who talked to himself and talked to the dead and needed somebody to see that he washed, to see that he shaved and got dressed right.
And I could not blame myself anymore, since I’d been doing that all along, for not having the sense to see what living there would turn into.
I stood on the brink of that storm, not knowing which way it would take me – back to silent suffering or ahead to something new – afraid either way.
As the bus lumbered into traffic, leaving behind a cloud of exhaust, I lurched forward with it: I turned everything on Ruby, once and for all, even though I had begrudged her from the start and said plenty of things about her, right to Len’s face, too. First, for not having the decency to get out of our house. Then for going off to teach and leaving me with Carl. Then for making more money than she knew what to do with, money she couldn’t bear to part with, when she could see as well as anyone that we could use a few groceries or the kids had holes in their boots. And she was
supposed to be so smart, the algebra teacher.
Len walked ahead, humming to himself, unaware that anything had happened to me. I dragged myself up behind him out of that flooded river and made my decision to save what was left of my life, and maybe the lives of the other three kids as well: I decided that after all those years of putting up with Ruby Mondo and her crazy brother Carl, I would never again set foot in their house.
Which would be hard to do, considering we lived not fifty yards from each other. Because when she saw that the kids were getting to be too many and too big, she finally moved out. She parted with some of that hoard of hers and built a little house on a piece of Len’s corn lot, smack across the road, so that every time I opened the door I was reminded that I could not get away from her, from them, reminded that even though we lived in that broken-down farmhouse we called ours, it would never belong to us, no matter what the mortgage papers said. Len never said a word, and I never said a word. In that respect we were a perfect match. We just let things happen.
As we drove home, I sat quiet. I watched the car dealerships and the factories, and then the open fields slip by, and little by little the peace eased into me. Even with my one girl lost, I had hope for myself and the other three kids at home. Len drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, anxious to get back to the only life that made any sense to him: work.
And so I kept my resolve, which nobody knew about except me.
Still, she called on the phone as usual, wanting me to come over for one foolish thing or another. My excuses didn’t faze her. She’d haul whatever it was over here, the mail she kept getting from motor vehicles that she never answered and couldn’t figure out, that ended up telling her she’d been driving half a year with an expired license; or the thermos I had to look at to see why everything kept leaking out, when she’d broken the liner and had never thought to replace it. Things like that.
And as usual, too, they wandered in without knocking, whenever they pleased. Carl looking for his dog that had been dead a quarter of a century, yelling at me to get out of his house; Ruby pacing the kitchen, touching things, shredding up one of the kids’ homework papers that’d been left on the table while she talked nonstop with no one but herself listening, all while I tried to mop the floor around them or do another load of wash or get supper on the table.
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