Lorraine had picked me up at Marge’s after work. She was off for the weekend, so we ate dinner with Marge and Leo, and then took the bus to Lorraine’s apartment. I ran to check the flowers as soon as we got off the bus; I pulled a few weeds and watered the beds before it got dark. Afterward, Lorraine sent me to the bathroom to run the bath water while she fixed buttered toast with sugar and cinnamon.
She called from the kitchen.
“Somebody better quit horsin’ around in there, or I’m eatin’ the heels. I mean it. I’ll eat’em both.”
“No sir!” I said.
“Good ones, too. Big, fat, crunchy ones.”
“No sir!”
“Here I go!” she said.
I ran to the kitchen.
After we ate, we took our baths. Lorraine washed my hair first and then climbed in with me; I manned the faucet while she washed hers, pouring pot after pot of warm water over her head while she ran her fingers through the mounds of suds and hair. She made foamy hair spikes that jutted like horns, fashioned elaborate curls and braids, tied long strands into bows over her forehead. She dug her fingernails into her scalp as I poured and poured.
“That’s good, Teddie. Turn up the hot. That feels so good.”
When she finished, she stood and bent over, dripping and shivery, squeezing and twisting the water from her hair. Her skin prickled in the cool air, her nipples tightened, and her tiny breasts jiggled from the vigorous toweling. Finally, she wrapped her head in the towel and stepped out of the tub and into her terrycloth robe. Her face was flushed pink, and, as she stood before the mirror massaging cold cream into the skin around her eyes, I thought she was very beautiful.
I played in the grey tub water for a long while, and Lorraine sat cross-legged on the toilet seat, dipping the tips of her fingers into a can of bag balm. She spread soft lumps of the stuff over her palms and the backs of her hands, rubbing and rubbing, rounding each finger, working each cuticle.
“Can’t beat bag balm for gettin’ the mill out of your hands. Your Grandpa Leo showed me it. He’s just like my own dad was. Knows all kinds of good stuff. You listen to your Grandpa Leo.”
She cleaned her nails and talked while I played in the tub. She talked about Leo. About her own father and growing up in a small mining town before moving to the city. She talked and talked until the tub water became cool and scummy while I played boats with spoons and forks, listening, watching as the images of her people and places passed through my mind like voices from the radio. Like words from books.
We jumped at a sudden pounding at the screen door. There was a loud creaking, as if someone were trying to pull it from its hinges. Lorraine had fastened the screen, but left the front door part way open to clear the moist bath air.
“Lorraine! It’s Ted! I need some help, honey!”
She bolted to her feet, fists clenched, the soft bath beauty of her face dissolved in the tight lines drawn about her eyes and mouth. She looked down at me.
“Stay put, mister.” She pointed a finger, “I mean it.”
She went to the front door; I climbed out of the tub and crouched between the water pipes and the wall, watching at the edge of the doorjamb. I could see Lorraine standing with her back against the door, hand on the knob, face uplifted to the ceiling. She lowered her voice to a harsh whisper.
“You get the hell out of here! Comin’ around sloshed to the gills! I got your boy tonight!”
“Sorry, baby. I’m all stove up. I ain’t got no place to go.”
“I got Teddie tonight!”
She looked to the bathroom, and I pulled my head behind the wall.
“Go over to your god damn whore’s house. That’s where you go, don’t you? Over to that goddamn whore’s?”
“Baby, I’m cut real bad. Let me in a minute. Let me clean up and rest a minute. Then I’ll go. Swear to God.”
Lorraine began to push against the door, closing it.
“I’m bleeding pretty good, Lorraine. For Christ’s sake.”
Lorraine turned, put her foot against the bottom of the door and risked a peek.
“Jesus Christ, Ted!”
“Just for a minute, baby.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“Please, baby.”
She rested her forehead against the door. “Wait a minute,” she sighed.
She ran to the living room and gathered an armful of newspapers from the couch, making a trail of papers from the front door to the bathroom. I jumped back into the tub, the water splashing in great waves.
When Lorraine reached the bathroom door, she looked in.
“Stay put.”
“What’s a matter with Ted?” I asked.
“Your dad’s hurt. Got some blood on his shirt. Don’t be scared.”
“I ain’t a scared of him,” I said, shivering. She pulled the towel from her head, shook her hair free, and ran her fingers through it until it was straight. Twisting it into a rope, she made a bun at the back of her head. Ted banged at the front door.
“What the hell you doing in there, Lorraine!”
“Minute!”
She picked up the towel and pointed her finger at me on her way out the door.
“You don’t move a muscle ‘til I say.”
“Okay.” I settled under the grey water. Putting my hands under my buttocks, I lay back, looking upward, floating, cold scum lapping my ears. I watched a cloud of gnats as it scurried about the glaring bulb above the medicine cabinet; I made war pictures in my mind from the harsh light thrown across the blistered paint of the ceiling. I arched my back and raised my penis above the surface of the water and peed, making a sparkling urine bridge. I sat up when I felt the nearness of footsteps through the bottom of the tub.
Ted came first. Lorraine had tucked the towel into the neck of his T-shirt and had spread it over his chest to hide the worst of his bleeding, but his arms were smeared with dark red clots. His loafers were stained black on top, and the soles made sticky sounds as he walked around the trail of newspapers and tracked the linoleum. He was pale and sweating, but he smiled when he saw me standing in the tub.
“How’s it goin’, Mutt?” He walked to the toilet and sat down. His cigarettes were rolled at his shoulder in the sleeve of his T-shirt, and he took the pack, tapped one out, mouthed it between his lips. “Your old dad’s in a hell of a shape.”
“Leave Teddie out of this,” Lorraine said, throwing another towel across his lap.
Ted laughed, but his hands were shaking as he struck a match to his cigarette. He blew a cloud of smoke, laughing again like he owned the world. Whenever Ted was in trouble with Lorraine, he would laugh like that. Now, he rested his back against the raised toilet seat and sprawled one arm across the sink. His cigarette trembled at the corner of his mouth as he spoke.
“This mom of yours is a regular spitfire, ain’t she, Mutt. Pure hellion. Womanfolks gets their back up over a thing, us manfolks best watch out.”
“I mean it, Ted!” Lorraine snapped.
“Your mom says don’t scare the shit out of you with all this,” he said, taking the cigarette from his mouth and pointing with it to his chest. “Got me bibbed and tuckered like a little kid, don’t she. They’s always got to keep you a little kid. I told your mom my boy ain’t scared of nothing, are you, Mutt.”
He pulled the towel from his neck and let it fall to the floor. His T-shirt was wet and bright with blood, and it glistened in the light, clinging to his muscles and the ripple of ribs. Holding the neck of his shirt out in front of him, he looked inside at his chest and shook his head.
“Hell of a shape. The bastard near to cut my tittie-boobers down to the nubs.”
“Dammit, Ted! Leave the kid alone or you can hike your drunk ass right out that front door!”
Ted winked at me and picked up the towel. He held it under his chin and fluttered his eyelashes. “You’re the boss, honey.”
“Teddie,” Lorraine said, “get out of there and get some clothes on. You stay out in t
he kitchen and listen to the radio ‘til I clean your dad up.”
“I want to see.”
“Move it, mister.”
“Let him stay,” Ted said. “He ain’t hurting nothing, are you, Mutt.”
“You heard me,” Lorraine said, snapping her fingers toward the door.
I looked at Ted, and he shrugged his shoulders. I climbed out of the tub, reached for a towel, and went to the kitchen to finish drying. Putting on fresh undershorts, I turned on the radio. Loud. Then I ran back to the bathroom, and, although Lorraine had closed the door, the latch was broken and it had popped open a few inches. Under the cover of the music, I was able to push open the door far enough to see inside. Lorraine had drained the tub; Ted was bent over the running faucet while she splashed water up to his naked chest. She had tucked a towel into his belt, and it hung down, covering his legs like an apron.
“Crying out loud, Lorraine! Ain’t you got no hot water in this place?”
“Me and Teddie just took our bath. You know, this’d be a hell of a lot easier if you’d get out of them pants and into the tub.”
“You’re doing fine, honey,” Ted laughed. “Just keep doing like you’re doing. All the time trying to get me out of my pants, ain’t you.”
“Shit,” Lorraine answered, “not likely.” She turned off the water and toweled him dry. She held him for a moment at arms’ length, surveying the cuts, then moved from one to another, gently bringing the flesh together with her fingers.
“Couple of these are into the meat. You need a doctor.”
Ted moved in front of the mirror and looked at his chest. “No doctors.” He pushed the cuts together with his thumbs, and blood spilled from the edges.
“You need a doctor, Ted.” She turned her face toward the kitchen and shouted. “Teddie, get your clothes on! We’re taking your dad …” She stopped when she saw me huddled at the bottom of the door. “What the hell you doing? What the hell I tell you?”
Ted grabbed her arm. “He ain’t hurting nothing. I said no doctors, Lorraine. Docs see you cut like this, they got to call the cops. No doctors. No cops.”
Lorraine tried to pull away, but Ted held her fast, forcing her to look into his face. “You hear me?”
“You hurt somebody, Ted?” Lorraine asked.
“Hope I killed the son of a bitch, is all.”
“Ted!”
“Christ, Lorraine, the son of a bitch near to cut my tits off. Who you worried about, him or your husband?”
Tears rolled down Lorraine’s cheeks.
“Oh, hell, I just messed him up a little.”
Lorraine looked down. Ted’s knuckles were scraped and swollen.
“Some hardheaded Polack, honey. Prob’ly live forever, die in bed.” The blood had begun to trickle slowly down his chest.
Her voice softened. “What do you expect out of me, Ted? I ain’t no doctor.”
“I don’t need no doctor. You just got to sew me up, is all.”
“You’re crazy as hell.” Lorraine pushed him away.
“Nothing fancy. Just to keep me from dripping half to death before work Monday.” He laughed.
“I don’t have the …”
“You got needle and thread, don’t you?”
“I ain’t no god damn doctor!”
“Just like a pair of Teddie’s pants, is all. Just like you would a pair of pants, Lorraine. You can sew pants, can’t you?”
Lorraine shook her head.
“Sure you can, babe. I know you can. I ain’t got no place else to go.” He held her face in his hands. “Do this for me, Lorraine.” He kissed her forehead. “Just like pants.”
Lorraine fell against him, put her arms around his waist, and squeezed hard. When she looked up at him, the sides of her face were smudged with blood.
“I am so sick of this shit,” she said.
There was no anger or hostility in her words. She spoke as if she were speaking to herself, as if she were amazed that such a simple truth had eluded her understanding. Then, she grasped Ted’s wrists and dug in her nails. She held her face close to his and hissed between clenched teeth.
“We love you so much. How can you do this to people that love you so much?”
Ted pulled away from her and stubbed his cigarette in the sink. He put his arms around her shoulders and winked at me over the top of her head.
“I ain’t doing nothing to nobody, Lorraine. Ain’t my fault somebody starts something, and, before you know it, all hell breaks loose. A man’s just a man, is all.”
Ted looked at me and winked again. “Ain’t that right, Mutt. Old Mutt knows.”
He turned back to Lorraine. “It ain’t that big a deal. You always got to make everything such a big goddamn deal. Come on, now. Get your sew stuff before I bleed clear to hell and back.”
Lorraine blew her nose on the end of the towel. “This is it. No more horseshit.”
“I know, baby.”
“I mean it.”
“I don’t blame you.”
Lorraine shook her head, then opened the door wide, and stepped around me. Going to the bed, she began pulling things from underneath, whispering to herself as she hunted for her sewing basket.
Ted sat down on the toilet. He dabbed the towel against his chest and winced.
“C’mere,” he said, holding out one arm. “You ain’t scared of your old dad, are you, Mutt?”
Lorraine shouted something unintelligible from the kitchen and turned down the radio.
I stood beside the tub, measuring my distance from him.
“C’mon, Teddie. C’mere, old Mutt. Give your old dad a smooch. One little smooch ain’t going to kill you.” He held out his arm.
I moved slowly toward him, leaning against the tub with my hip, trailing one hand along the top, making growling sounds at the back of my throat. I stopped in front of him, crooked my fingers to claws, and raked them toward his wounds.
“Sit on my lap for a minute,” he said.
I held two handsful of razor-like claws straight out in front of me. “I can rip your skin off.”
“You wouldn’t hurt your old dad, would you?”
“I can rip your guts out.”
“Not your dad, though.” He closed his eyes and bent over with his elbows on his knees, his face dripping sweat, his skin turned ashen in his hands.
“Man-oh-man. Your old dad’s got his dick in a wringer this time.” He began to shake, and his breath came in great, ragged sighs. I stepped closer and put my hand on his arm. His skin was cold and sticky, and clots of dried blood were matted in his hair. I touched his forearm with one finger, pressing again and again, playing with the stickiness. Finally, I settled on a thick patch of crusty blood and rolled it between my fingers, forming it into a tight little ball. I jerked hard and tore it out of his arm hair.
“Jesus, Teddie!” Ted yelled. He sat up, rubbing his arm as though he had been stung. “What the hell you doing?”
I fingered the hairy clot and held it up to the light for him to see. He opened his hand, and I dropped it into his palm. He inspected it closely, then shook his head.
“Crazy little bastard,” he whispered. He gathered me into his arms, crushing me to him. “You got your mom’s crazies, and that’s no shit.” He rocked me, whispering things I did not understand, nuzzling me with his whiskers, breathing sweet tobacco and bourbon into my face.
Lorraine stepped into the bathroom with her sewing basket and pointed at the smear of Ted’s blood on my face and neck.
“Just give the kid his bath. Hope you’re satisfied.” Tears started in Ted’s eyes.
“Sorry, honey. I don’t know what the hell gets into me.” He began to cry.
Lorraine put her basket on the back of the toilet and enfolded us in her arms.
“We love you, Ted. You know we love you.” She said this without tears, in the voice she used to comfort me after she had punished me for doing wrong. She said this again and again, until Ted’s head fell against her breast, until
the only sounds were the radio from the kitchen, the creaking of the toilet seat as we rocked, and Ted’s quiet breathing.
Finally, Ted put me down and kissed me on the head.
“Let’s get at it. Muttie, run get me that bottle off the steps. Next to the wall about half-way up.”
“Ted, no,” Lorraine said.
“There’s just a couple of swigs in the bottom. Need me a bite before you start jabbing.”
“I said no, and I mean no. Not in my house.”
“There ain’t hardly half a sniff in there. You making me go outside for half a damn sniff?”
Lorraine sighed. “This is the last time, Ted.”
“Go on, Mutt. Do like your dad says.”
“No running with that bottle,” Lorraine said.
I ran to the kitchen, then out through the screen door with a bang. I found a bottle of Four Roses wedged into the broken concrete between the steps and the wall. I twisted the cap with both hands until it cracked open. Sniffing inside of the cap, I put my tongue down the neck and splashed some bourbon on it. It burned; I shook my head and spit.
“What you doing out there?” Ted called. “Get your butt in the house!”
I replaced the cap and ran to the bathroom.
“No running,” Lorraine said, as I slid to a stop on the wet linoleum.
Ted unscrewed the cap and looked at me. He smiled.
“Cap’s on the loose side, Mutt. Could’ve swore I cranked her down hard.”
“That’s half a bottle!” Lorraine said.
“The hell you say.” Ted took a long, gurgling pull, and flipped the cap into the trash. He puffed out his chest. “Let’s get at it, honey.” The cuts opened and bled.
“Simmer down,” Lorraine answered. “Teddie, get in the other room so I can …”
Ted picked me up under one arm and hoisted me into the empty tub. “He ain’t hurting nothing. Old Mutt’s got to learn the wages of sin sooner or later. Don’t want him to grow up hell on wheels like his old man, do we, Lorraine.” He pretended to punch my chin.
“Quit callin’ him ‘Mutt’.” Lorraine filled the sink with water, took a bottle of rubbing alcohol down from the medicine cabinet, and unscrewed the cap. She held the bottle over Ted’s chest.
The Violent Child Page 5
