Brake Failure

by Alison Brodie

  All eyes swivelled to Ruby. Ruby, who had a dread of attracting attention, now had thirty children and one teacher staring at her in stark horror. Not knowing quite what was expected of her, she cackled: ‘I will eat you all up!’ At this, a little boy in the front row started whimpering, prompting the teacher to escort him from the room.

  Molly continued less forcefully, ‘Who wants to be the hero?’

  ‘Me! Me!’ As the older children stuck up their hands, Molly chose Harry, Dumbledore, Madame Hooch and various other characters. She read a chapter from the book then let the children throw rubber lizards, toads and snakes into the cauldron while chanting magic spells.

  These children will be clamouring to read this story, Ruby thought happily. Even I want to read it. Finding a new confidence, she pounded her staff on the floor and bellowed: ‘I am the force of evil! I will-!’

  ‘THERE SHE IS!’

  The overhead lights snapped on, flooding the room with blinding light as four angry women marched towards Ruby.

  A boy at the cauldron cried, ‘Mommy, mommy, I’m making magic.’

  ‘Billy,’ the mother snarled. ‘Leave it! Now!’

  Ruby was nervously backing off. Was this part of the story telling?

  The teacher reappeared and shouted: ‘I had nothing to do with this!’

  Molly held the book high: ‘There is nothing to be scared of. This is only a fairy-tale!’

  ‘It should burn with the rest,’ a voice shouted.

  Burn? Ruby gaped in astonishment.

  A policeman appeared in the doorway, his face shadowed by his Stetson hat, his hand resting on the gun at his hip. Ruby’s nervousness turned to indignation. What’s he going to do? Shoot me for wearing a silly nose?

  As he removed his hat, she recognised him.

  Gephart!

  ‘What’s the problem?’ he asked. Attacked by a barrage of female voices, he held up a hand and laughed. ‘Hey! One at a time.’ He turned to the mother beside him. ‘You go first.’

  The woman pointed at Ruby. ‘Look at her! She’s a Wiccan! She’s come here to teach our kids satanic worship.’

  Ruby gasped. ‘This is-’ She had been about to say ‘preposterous’ but common-sense told her to remain silent. Gephart could not possibly recognise her with a large rubber nose, shaggy eyebrows and a beard. But he would if she opened her mouth.

  Another mother spoke up. ‘We don’t want our kids messing with satanic worship and animal sacrifice.’

  ‘We’re just bringing literature to life,’ Molly insisted, ‘making it fun so that your kids will want to read for themselves.’

  ‘Well, read Huck Finn.’

  Molly groaned. ‘I’ve done that a thousand times. I’m bored of it and so are the kids, too, I bet.’ All the children nodded vigorously.

  A small fat woman grabbed a little girl by the arm and yanked her to her feet. ‘I don’t know where you’re from, ma’am, but this here is Bible country. We don’t wanna be home thinking folks are filling our churren’s head with the devil’s work.’

  Gephart, having listened to the teacher beside him, now turned to Molly. ‘Sorry, ma’am, we’re gonna have to put a stop to these proceedings. This school has an official opt-out policy on this book, so all the parents will have to be notified of what went on here today.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous!’ Ruby clamped her lips shut but it was too late. The words were out. Frowning, Gephart stepped forward and bent low to squint up into her face.

  ‘You English?’

  For the first time since she’d arrived in Kansas that question sounded like a threat. ‘Nope, I ain’t.’ The hours of watching Western movies had paid off. She sounded like Johnny Cash.

  He nodded, seeming convinced. ‘We don’t want no trouble.’

  She saw how his tuberous forearms strained against the short sleeves of his stone-coloured shirt, how his chest hair curled over the neck of his white T-shirt, how his hand rested on his gun. She was conscious of something like a thrill, and realised her heart was beating fast.

  ‘Trouble?’ she mumbled. ‘I ain’t the dumb-ass what phoned the cops.’

  ‘Nobody phoned the cops. I was here giving a road-safety talk to Third Grade.’

  As Ruby opened her mouth to retort, Molly grabbed her by the arm and spun her round to the table, whispering, ‘Let’s just pack up and go.’

  ‘But it’s not fair!’ Ruby hissed.

  ‘Storytelling is my job. I don’t want to be black-balled.’ Molly turned to Gephart. ‘I’m sorry about the upset we caused.’ Molly’s gush of feverish apology seemed to pacify everyone – all except Ruby who, silently seething, shoved a rubber toad back in its jar.

  *

  Molly sighed. ‘What a hunk of delectable.’ They were now loading up the van.

  Ruby, who was still agitated and distracted, hurled in a bundle of cloaks. ‘Sorry. What did you say?’

  ‘I’m saying he’s real handsome. H. Gephart. Wonder what the “H” stands for?’

  ‘Hitler.’

  Molly threw her a quizzical smile. ‘He was only doing his job.’ She reached over to peel off the wart from Ruby’s cheek. ‘I guess I should’ve checked with the school first. The book is causing waves with Fundamental Evangelists.’

  ‘I think the whole thing is too stupid for words. It’s a children’s story. Written by an Englishman, for goodness sakes.’

  Molly shrugged. ‘Makes no difference. This is the Bible Belt - although not everybody in Kansas is against the book. The teacher apologised. She believes it’s harmless, but rules are rules. True Fundamentalists don’t even believe in Darwin’s theory of evolution.’

  ‘I’m surprised. One look at Gephart surely proves that man evolved from apes.’

  ‘Hey! There’s no reason for you to hate the guy!’

  Ruby sighed. ‘There is a reason. He accused me of drunk-driving.’ She began to recount what had happened and when she’d finished Molly was grinning.

  ‘So that’s why you were talking weird? You didn’t want him to recognise you.’ Molly turned the key in the ignition. ‘Well, since you’re not the criminal type, I guess Sheriff Gephart won’t be bothering you again.

  *

  Ruby and Molly sat in Rooster’s Diner waiting for their coffees to arrive.

  ‘I was almost tempted to swear at him,’ Ruby admitted.

  ‘Lucky you didn’t,’ Molly said heavily. ‘Cops don’t take kindly to that.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t have. I never swear.’

  ‘So what do you say if you hit your finger with a hammer?’

  ‘Ouch.’

  Molly looked incredulous. ‘What’s wrong with swearing?’

  ‘My stepmother, Vanessa, says it’s unladylike. She calls it Nautical Language.’

  ‘I call it necessary. It helps you let off steam.’ Molly glanced up as the waitress set two mugs of coffee on the table. ‘Isn’t that right, Charmaine? A girl’s gotta swear.’

  ‘Fucking right we do.’ The waitress laughed and walked off.

  Ruby knew that if her stepmother was present, she would view Molly as an Unsuitable Friend. Molly was the type to dance over spilled wine at a party; Ruby was the type to grab for the salt.

  ‘Sounds like Vanessa needs to loosen up,’ Molly said, pouring sugar into her coffee.

  ‘If anyone needs to loosen up, it’s my stepsister.’ Ruby went on to explain about growing up with Claire and when she had finished, Molly’s eyes were bulging.

  ‘Jeez! How did you stop yourself from strangling her?’

  ‘With difficulty.’

  ‘I’ve gotta say it: Claire is one tight-assed princess.’

  Ruby sipped her coffee. ‘I wish I could tell her that.’

  ‘Why don’t you? Go on. Try it.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Repeat after me: “Claire, you’re one tight-assed princess…”’

  ‘“Claire, you are one tight-assed princess…”’ Even as she said it, Ruby felt a blush creep over
her cheeks.

  Molly continued to dictate: ‘“… and if I have to hear your bullshit for one more second I’ll blow my fucking brains out.”’

  Ruby burst out laughing. Yes, Molly was very much an Unsuitable Friend.

  Molly asked about Paris, and Ruby was quick to explain why she wanted to go. ‘It’s the only place I want to be. You see, when I was growing up I always felt I didn’t belong; that there was somewhere I could finally be … me. And that place is Paris.’

  Molly studied her. ‘So who is the real you?’

  ‘I don’t know yet, but I’ll know when I get there.’

  When Molly invited her to The Brown Bag, Ruby hesitated. Having learned from Molly that this was a Hells Angels “hang-out”, Ruby suspected the place was not only sleazy but threatening. This was where Mackenzie, for a bet, had placed her hand on a stable and stabbed between her fingers with a knife.

  ‘I don’t think it’s my sort of place.’

  Molly shrugged. ‘How about, instead, I give you a guided tour of Kansas City - with its history and legends?’

  This was more like it - a harmless, educational adventure. ‘That sounds fun. Thank you.’

  They made the arrangements as Molly drove back to the Asian store. As Ruby walked across the parking lot to her car, Molly shouted out: ‘Hey, Ruby! You’re one tight-assed princess!’ She laughed at Ruby’s startled expression. ‘Just reminding you what to say when Claire phones.’

  Ruby chuckled. ‘Please don’t tempt me.’

  *

  Ruby was stockpiling tins of smoked oysters in the garage when the telephone rang.

  ‘Bonjour!’ Claire trilled. ‘My gala dinner went wonderfully. And darling Jacques - he’s the French ambassador - sent me a bouquet of lilies.’

  She got lilies. I got a pan encrusted in duck entrails.

  ‘My dinner party went wonderfully, too.’ Ruby would not mention Paris until she was standing in Charles de Gaulle airport. ‘I entertained Edward’s major client.’

  ‘How nice. I’m organising a soirée in honour of Giuseppe di Florenzio. He’s the new Italian ambassador. The girls and I will be giving him something rather special.’ She began to sing: ‘Va pensiero. Sull’ ali dorate …’ She paused. ‘Do you recognise where it’s from?’

  ‘La Boheme?’

  ‘No, I’ll give you a clue. Act Three of Verdi’s …?’

  ‘Rigatoni?’

  ‘Rigatoni?’ Claire choked, coughing, but quickly recovered. ‘That’s spaghetti! You mean Rigoletto?’

  ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.’

  ‘No, it’s from Nabucco. The Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves.’ Claire sighed as if Ruby was seriously beyond help.

  You’re a tight-assed princess. Ruby bit back the words.

  The next telephone call came from Charlotte. Ruby, who was still trying to bond with her mother-in-law, greeted her warmly. ‘Hello, Charlotte, did you receive the photos I sent you?’

  ‘That’s why I’m telephoning. Edward has positively bal-looned.’

  Ruby felt a chunk of conversation was missing, such as: “Hello Ruby. How are you? Settling in nicely? I’m so thrilled you married my son.”

  ‘It’s your job to keep an eye on him,’ Charlotte berated. ‘Now I must go.’

  Where? Charm school?

  When Edward arrived home, he talked excitedly about his meeting with Dwight Huffaker. ‘He loves all my ideas. In fact, he was astonished at some of the advice I gave him. You should see us; we’re like buddies now. He talked about the joys of fatherhood and it got me thinking. What do you say?’

  Ruby, who was mentally gambolling down the Champs Elysées, paused. ‘Say?’

  ‘About having a baby.’

  Ruby wanted a baby as much as she wanted a block of concrete tied to her neck.

  ‘Well, darling, I shall certainly consider it,’ she said, thankful she was in the driving seat for this one.

  *

  Sitting in bed Ruby wrote her diary entry for the day.

  Sunday, 31 October 1999.

  11.00 Go to Hobby Lobby to buy costumes for Mary-Jo’s Halloween Party tonight. Edward has decided he will be Davy Crocket + I will be Calamity Jane. I pick up a bottle of fake blood. My decision is made.

  5.15 Edward arrives home + proudly shows me Payat’s hunting knife which he’s borrowed for the party. This is no letter opener! How many animals has it killed? Payat is a MONSTER.

  5.30 Mary-Jo is busy organising the party so I volunteer to chaperone her 5 daughters round the neighbourhood for Trick-or-Treating. I’m Lady Dracula with fake blood dripping from my mouth. The girls and I are v. excited. We skip along the road, our plastic pumpkins ready to collect masses of sweeties. The second house we come to is Mr Schoettler’s. As the door opens, a blast of hot, vinegary air hits us. He’s in an old dressing gown and looks like Scrooge. He peers at me, spits sideways and says it’s a federal crime for anyone over twelve to be disguised and demanding at folks’s doors. After that, I hang back at every gate we come to and watch the girls collect their treats. And I only got ONE Twinkie!

  7.00 Take girls home. Mary-Jo and Darlene inspect each apple, Tootsie Roll, Twinkie, Snickers bars, Reese cups, Peppermint Patties and Hershey’s Kiss for razor blades and poison.

  7.10 I pop home + drop my Twinkie in the bin. Edward is ready, so we head back over the road. Wailing sounds emanate from Mary-Jo’s house. The Americans really go overboard when it comes to Halloween. The porch is hung with fake cobwebs, the lawn dotted with plastic tombstones. A hand grabs my ankle and I scream. It’s Bob, our host, lying camouflaged in his flowerbed, giggling. It’s lucky for him I hadn’t kicked him in the teeth.

  7.05 Mary-Jo is the only one not in horror costume. She wears a black T-shirt with the words: DON’T PISS ME OFF - I’M RUNNING OUT OF PLACES TO HIDE THE BODIES. (I suppose that’s good enough).

  7.10 My neighbours have become vampires and werewolves. They welcome me like I’m a long-lost sister + eagerly introduce me to their friends. I feel like a celebrity! I describe my two awful encounters with Sheriff Gephart. Naturally, I expect a show of outrage, and am astonished when everyone falls about shrieking with laughter. One lady even has to dash to the lavatory. (I’m funny and I never knew it!)

  8.25 I ask why there is such a fuss over the Harry Potter book. Darlene says it’s the ONLY book Truman has ever read - only because he was told NOT to. Note: Americans have double standards: 1) They burn a child’s book because of its occult theme, yet there are two ghosts standing at the punch bowl. 2) They hype the fear of Y2K by showing a TV special, The Day the Food Ran Out - then show a panel of comedians making jokes about it.

  9.00 Mary-Jo is beached on the sofa. She says she wants to get slim like me. ‘It’s those raw vegetables you eat, isn’t it?’ (Yes, and the fact that I don’t eat between snacks, and don’t have Coca-Cola coming out of a tap).

  12.30 Back home. Take out my teeth. Edward is face-down on the bed. Why get drunk? With a little self-restraint, one need not dribble incoherently, throw up and pass out. Although to be fair, Edward couldn’t possibly say no when Echo asked him to sample her latest batch of “moonshine”. (When I get to Paris, my drink of choice will be Pouilly-fumé).

  *

  Ruby finished packing the picnic basket for her day out with Molly. While she waited for her friend to arrive, she emptied the dishwasher and carried the plates to the cupboard.

  Peculiar how a pile of plates always took her back to that moment. She’d been six, playing with her best friend, Emily, in the front garden. Her mother came out and stood on the terrace holding a pile of plates. She was smiling, that brilliant smile. She held a plate high; holding their attention then released it. It fell, smashing into tiny pieces. ‘This is what they do in Greece,’ she told them. ‘Go on girls, try it!’ Emily was the first to drop hers, giggling with the thrill of destruction. Ruby was next. They were standing in a pile of white rubble when Ruby held up the final plate. She saw her father coming up the path ca
rrying his briefcase. He gave her a look of disgust; he gave his wife a look of disgust and went into the house. Ruby felt ashamed, too ashamed to drop the plate.

  She closed the cupboard doors. Her father had disliked her. Why? After his death she had spoken to Vanessa but Vanessa had been adamant: ‘Oh no, Ruby, he loved you.’

  Then why couldn’t he even stand being in the same room as me?

  She was thankful to hear the toot-toot of a car horn. She grabbed up the picnic basket and hurried out.

  ‘Nice house,’ Molly said, stowing the basket in the back of the van. Molly looked like Bizet’s Carmen with a cigarette hanging from her lips while dressed in a yellow flouncy blouse, a red gypsy skirt and espadrille shoes in hazard orange. Today, she was going to give Ruby a guided tour of the city.

  Ruby got in beside her and they set off. The road shimmered in the intense heat, the lawns bleached with lack of rain. They passed Pflumm Woods community pool, the turquoise-coloured water temptingly cool and ringed by a high fence.

  ‘All the sub-division pools are closed for the winter,’ Molly murmured. ‘Pity.’

  ‘It’s so hot! I can’t believe it’s the third of November.’

  ‘You watch: today, sun – tomorrow, snow.’ Molly glanced over. ‘Could you crack your window?’

  ‘Crack?’ Ruby repeated doubtfully, glancing at the broken wing mirror.

  ‘That means open your window a little. Mine’s jammed.’

  ‘Oh, sorry, yes.’ Ruby wound down the window, but the breeze was hot and gave little relief.

  Nearing the city, they passed Negro Western Store with a life-size horse on the roof. Posters advertised Kansas Gun and Knife Show. The windows of Helbert’s Liquor Store were covered with an iron grill and a sign, Owner is Armed.

  ‘Do you get many tourists?’ Ruby asked.

  ‘Didn’t you know? Kansas is the Flyover State.’ Molly slowed to a halt at a traffic light. ‘Pity, because it has lots to offer: cowboy bars, great jazz clubs and restaurants. And history, too. This, here, is the Pony Express Route. And that road? Two hundred years ago, you couldn’t have crossed it between the hours of dawn and dusk ’cos it was blocked solid with settlers and wagons all moving west on the Santa Fe Trail.’