Elias's Fence

by Steinberg, Anne

  Well, there is always the public service. And now that cabs were gone, they did have an account at Secure Transport. Sometimes she used them, but they were saved for emergencies. Anderson used them on pay days when they got the funds and she noticed the thick armored truck with guards come for her elderly neighbor several times a month.

  Christine felt so restless, but she also felt like a whirlwind, for suddenly she felt so strong. She needed the seeds, the fertilizer. If she had it today, she would rake and plant and work until the sun went down.

  She knelt and planted the seeds around the empty fish pond. She'd ask Anderson tonight about the excursion. She needed to go to several stores. She wasn't sure who carried seeds anymore. Central Hardware was gone - they had closed years ago - but she'd check the listing. Someone must still sell garden supplies. If Anderson wouldn't take her, she'd just get on the Secure Cars list for the next available date for one of their guided, escorted shopping tours.

  She raked the yard and took the bags to the back. Furtively she glanced up and down the alley. It was empty. She turned off the fence and pushed aside the one movable bar so she could place the trash bags outside the fence. It was then that she noticed a note taped to the garbage can.

  Surely it was not a bill. They collected every month for the trash service. Her hands trembled as she took the sheet. She slid the bar back and turned on the fence and then, with dreaded fascination began reading the note. It was the very same note.

  Lady of the hair like sun. Your fence is the final insult. It shall not keep you safe. We are here. We watch. Again we will trample the grass, claw at your windows, and roast your cats. We will castrate your sons and hang them on your magnificent fence to dry. You and your lovely daughter shall know our lust, our anger, our love - and your husband, he is the only one who shall live, with the memories like reels of movies in his head to see over and over.

  Death to you.

  She shivered in the sun. Where did they go? She looked down the twisting alley. Suddenly her head ached. She was sure - positive - that she had shredded this very same note. But then she noticed there was a difference - on the bottom of this one they had written:

  Love XXXXX

  Inside she found the paper shredder was jammed, so viciously she tore the obscene note into tiny pieces and threw it down the garbage disposal. There was a shrill ringing in her head until finally she realized it was the phone that was ringing. She was afraid to answer it, but finally she did.

  "Hello."

  "Mrs. Thorpe, please, I beg of you, please." She recognized Rosa's voice.

  Forgetting the canned speech Anderson had given her, she spoke from her heart.

  "Rosa - it's not me - I'd give anything to have you back. You must understand. I don't earn the money - I'm not in charge here." She heard the Rosa’s continued sobs.

  "The children, they're so hungry. Please, Mrs. Thorpe."

  "Oh!" Christine felt her heart breaking. "Wait, Rosa, wait. You come by the front gate - we have a fence now - and I will give you what I can. Don't let the children touch the fence though - it's electric."

  She knew there was want out there, raw and sore, even the frightening notes told her that. But dear Rosa and her boys - she couldn't bear thinking they were hungry. Somehow with her own worries, she had just Rosa had gone on to another job.

  With haste, she gathered bags full of staples and cans - lots of cans. She went down to the vault - he wouldn't miss it – so she put three hundred dollars in an envelope. She put the bags outside the gate and left a large note - "DON'T TOUCH THE FENCE."

  Ashamed and feeling like a coward, she waited peering out from behind the lace curtains. She longed to see Rosa, but when she finally saw her coming up the street, she noticed Rosa was so thin, so unlike herself, that it brought tears to Christine's eyes. And the sight of Rosa’s six-year-old son happily devouring an onion out of the bag made Christine so ashamed.

  "What's wrong with me," she said out loud.

  She threw open the door, rushed outside, shut off the fence, and brought the three of them inside the yard. After hugs and laughter they sat on the grass and took various foods from the bags and ate hungrily. Rosa would not have entered the house no matter what, for she knew what it had cost Mrs. Thorpe to say out loud "I'm not in charge here." Most women would understand and feel the same sense of shame. But it was true even in their own homes – most women were not in charge.

  They talked and exchanged awkward, embarrassed conversation and in the end Christine promised to leave bags of food outside the gate every Monday.

  Silently, they embraced and parted. Only the boys' tender "Bye-Bye" echoed in Christine's ears as she shut the gate.

  Chapter 6

  Rachael's Saturday appointment was for ten thirty. Her friend, Shelly, was going with her.

  "Are you scared?"

  Rachel laughed. "No, stupid. It's not my first time. You know that. To use one of my grandma's famous sayings, it's 'just like falling off a log'."

  "God, what a hick this grandma of yours must be."

  "Right. The old bitch hasn't talked for about two years. She just lies there, using up air, and costs my dad a bundle of money."

  "I hate old people," Shelly stated. "They're so gross."

  "Old people. Can you imagine them fucking? I think some of them do. Wrinkles and shit like that. One time I lifted up the sheet and my grandma had no hair left down there at all."

  "That’s gross."

  "Yeah, disgusting she is. But probably men are even worse. Can you imagine all that plumbing without hair down there?"

  "Yuk."

  They waited impatiently for the bus, chewing their gum slowly. And it was rather tricky as they had decided on hiding their money in their mouths as well. Putting it in your bra these days was passé - every street thief knew about that. And putting it up there was risky. If you got raped, the bills were sure to be lost in the process.

  With the bus in sight, the girls took the bills out, unfurled the damp twenties and smoothed them out on the bus. The scanner beeped repeatedly.

  "Wet bills, are they?" the driver asked with annoyance.

  "Just a bit. It was raining, you know," Rachael explained as she repeatedly tried feeding the bill into the scanner.

  "Here." His hand reached out and took the damp bills. The driver shifted in the seat so he could put the money in his back pocket.

  "He could have let us on free if he was gonna do that," Shelly whispered.

  "What'd you say, girlie?"

  "Nothing, sir."

  "Take a seat, I ain't got all day," and he swerved the bus back into traffic.

  "Sit by the driver, that's what my mother always says," Rachael joked.

  "What for?"

  "I can't imagine, but it's like I was telling you, my mom - she grew up religious. I guess she can't help it."

  Shelly nodded, thankful that her mother was hip. They even attended the same orgies. Rachael let the subject drop. She always felt intense embarrassment whenever she had to explain anything about her mom.

  Two stops later their attention was diverted as two street guys got on. The first guy was young and handsome in a disheveled way. He strutted onto the bus dressed totally in leather. The second one was taller and his air of danger was more pronounced.

  Shelly leaned over and whispered to Rachael, "Look at that belt, just like the vintage porno flicks we saw when guys rode motorcycles, those big kickin’ Harleys."

  Both girls shivered. Sexy - shit...that was sure sexy. Rachael said they both wished they had lived in those days when dudes rode around on those big Harley Davidsons.

  The handsome one nudged his partner, winked at the girls, and stroked his crotch seductively. Both girls giggled and the guys both smiled wide smiles, their teeth edged with green film.

  The bigger, bolder of the two rolled up his sleeve and twitched a muscle so that the words tattooed at some forgotten date in the joint bobbed up and down. The girls read the message, "Wanna
Fuck?"

  The girls giggled and shook their heads "no" and almost swallowed the $20 return bus fare. The girls got off at their stop - Euclid and McPherson. On the dirty brick building the sign flashed red. On and off it flashed, "Abortions - by appointment only."

  They entered the building and Rachael rang the buzzer. A nurse slid the glass window open. "Yeah?"

  "I'm Rachel Thorpe. I have an appointment."

  "It'll be in a minute or two." The glass shut and 10 minutes later Rachel's name was called. She was led into the sparse room. She knew the routine - take off your clothes, put on the dirty gown, climb up on the table and wait. The room smelt of warm blood. The waste can overflowed and blood-stained tissue littered the floor in front of it.

  She stared up at the cracked ceiling where a cockroach journeyed slowly across it, making its way to the side wall. She watched its slow progress with interest. Its egg sack dragged along behind it.

  "You're in the wrong place, baby," she joked. "This ain't the delivery room - far from it."

  After a few minutes the intern entered the room. She recognized the shock of red hair and his pleasant face, sprinkled with freckles. He, in turn, remembered her as well.

  "How you doing?" he asked.

  "I've been better," she smiled.

  "Right."

  As he clattered about the room, arranging the necessary tools, they talked about music. He was a vintage tape collector - like her brother.

  "Been to any clubs?" he asked.

  "Yeah. We make The Castle Rock and sometimes Ginny’s."

  "Ginny’s, that’s pretty conservative. I hear you gotta be eighteen to get in."

  "No problem, I know the doorman," she said smugly.

  "Good to have friends," he replied as he guided her legs into the stirrups.

  It was easy - just like falling off a log. Just lie there, spread-eagled, and have it sucked out - like pulling out a plug. One big slurp and it was out.

  "Can I see it?" Rachael asked. "I never saw the last one."

  "Sure, why not," and the intern plopped it in a bottle and carefully handed it to her like it was a rose. The embryo bobbed in the liquid like a tadpole, translucent, pink, threaded with veins. Its bud-like limbs seemed to wave at her.

  "It's kinda neat," Rachael said smiling. "Can I keep it?"

  "Sure, why not. We just flush 'em down the toilet anyway."

  She shook the bottle and watched her son tumble and roll like a playful dolphin.

  The doctor handed her two large pills. She gagged and tried again. They finally went down.

  "Here," he took the bottle from her and placed it on the window ledge. "Lay still, let the pills work." He checked his watch. "It should be okay to leave in 'bout a half hour." At the door he turned back. "What nights you go to Ginny’s'?"

  "Usually Friday - sometimes Saturday."

  "Maybe I'll see you there."

  "Yeah, maybe," she agreed.

  "If not, I'll see you here."

  She laughed. "I hope not. I'm trying to remember to take those birth control pills."

  "Right." He shut the door quietly for a change.

  Hypnotically, she watched the embryo bobbing like a sun catcher. Sunlight danced at its funeral. She watched, she dozed. Doors slammed and a typewriter tapped rhythmically somewhere in the building. A clock ticked off the minutes. And finally the nurse came in and checked on her.

  "Ok, you can get dressed."

  Rachael stepped off the table and dressed quickly, for she suddenly felt cold. On the floor she saw that the roach had completed its journey. It paused in front of the trashcan, the feelers moving the blood-stained tissues. Carefully, Rachael poised the toe of her shoe and smashed the egg case, careful not to injure the insect. She laughed as it skittered away, barren again.

  She reached for her prize and passed a girl in the hall who was sobbing while drying her face on her long black hair. She heard the intern bark, "Next!" like a cattle call, and the girl was led into the room. She heard their conversation.

  "What the hell's the matter with her?" the intern snapped.

  "I'm sorry," the nurse apologized. "She's just scared. She's retarded, so I can't explain what’s going on."

  "Oh. What happened to the candy suckers? Nurse Ransome usually keeps lollipops for these kind."

  "I'll look," the nurse mumbled.

  "Please do. It's a lot easier than wrestling with them. Some of these retards are strong as hell."

  The nurse came back with a red sucker on a safety stick and instantly the girl hushed. The intern proceeded about his work. He looked at the girl as her full lips surrounding the sucker reminded him of other things. She wasn't bad looking. She had a pretty face, nice body. He could understand why she was in this predicament, but the blonde who just left, she was a real stunner. He hoped he'd run into her on some Friday night at Ginny’s. Yeah, that blonde - she was really something.

  The retarded girl on the table jumped as the suction kicked in, but she did not cry, just began sucking vigorously. The intern looked up.

  "You want her sterilized as well?" he asked the nurse.

  "Might as well while you're at it."

  "Permission slip signed?" he asked.

  "No, but I really don't think it matters."

  "You're right," and he prepared for the next job.

  Outside, Shelly asked, "What the hell did you keep it for?"

  "I don't know. It's mine, why not?"

  "Ok, but I still don't get it. When you take a shit do you lift out the turd and keep it?"

  They both laughed, caught the next bus, and went home. When they got to the gate they paused.

  "What are you gonna tell your mom?"

  "I'll tell her it's a sun catcher - from biology class. They both laughed hysterically. "She'll believe it," Rachael insisted.

  Upstairs in her room Rachael placed the jar on the window ledge, and it suddenly occurred to her – this wasn’t a sun catcher at all. It wasn’t something from a biology class either. No, it was the beginning of a person. Was it going to be a girl, or a boy, and her thoughts caused a pain that began somewhere in the middle of her chest. What about the other one? She hadn’t looked at it, but it made her wonder, and a feeling of panic began growing stronger in her head.

  She knew she should go down to the kitchen and get some Nirvana or take one or two of the “It’s okay pills,” for it wasn’t good to feel like this, so unsettled, so unsure. Behind the jar in the window she saw the air turning pink. Great. Good, she thought as she hurried over and opened the sash and inhaled deeply of the winds of forgetfulness. That’s better – much better.

  Chapter 7

  It was not quite 3 a.m. when Christine first heard the frantic screams. Half asleep, she stumbled into the hall to find Anderson already in Rachel's room. He was sitting on the bed holding his daughter gently.

  "It's okay, baby, I'll get Dr. Cohen here right away." His gentle touch had calmed her somewhat and she sobbed softly against his shoulder. "There, there," he soothed. "Mom's here now - I better give the doctor a call."

  Deftly he transferred her to Christine's arms and she took his place.

  "It'll be okay," Christine promised, now knowing what it was that she was promising.

  "It's the blood - all this blood. I’m scared." Rachael lifted the cover. Her gown and the bed were saturated with dark red stains. "It won't stop," she whimpered. "I'm bleeding to death! Mom, I’m so scared."

  Christine felt a clutch of fear, as there was so much blood, but she managed to keep her voice calm. "No, honey, you're not dying. Sometimes I used to have periods that were real bad just like this," she lied.

  "But it won't stop," Rachael repeated. "Make it stop, Mom. I don't want to die."

  Christine reached over and hugged her daughter. "Honey, you're not dying. Dr. Cohen will know what to do - he will fix it, I promise."

  In spite of her panic and even though she knew it was terrible, Christine felt good that her daughter clung to her so tigh
tly - it had been so long since they were close. It had been an eternity since Rachael had needed her for anything.

  "It's gonna be okay," Christine reassured. As she rocked her daughter, she recaptured the feeling remembered so clearly from many years ago when she had rocked her as a small plump infant. Now she was a young woman, but still her child – and always would be her child.

  Her daughter's need kept her own fears at bay.

  It was when Anderson returned with Dr. Cohen that she felt the alienation again. Anderson shushed her and led her out of the room, saying, "We'll tend to it, Christine. You get too nervous - you know how you are. Make us a cup of tea. That's the least we can do for the doctor since we've gotten him out of bed in the middle of the night."

  The door was closed tightly against her and wearily she went down to the kitchen to do as she was told. The clock ticked slowly and she sat staring into her tea cup. It wasn't right - she was the mother - she should have been allowed to stay, to help her daughter.

  Anderson always accused her of nervousness, but in reality she felt she was strong; for her children she could be strong. Anger, swift and hot, overcame her and clearly she thought - it's him repeating over and over things that aren't true until he makes them true. She should have been allowed to stay. Her baby, no matter how big she was, was scared, and she should have been allowed to comfort her.

  It was at least an hour before she finally heard voices. She covered the tea pot, surveyed the neatly set table, and hurried upstairs.

  Ignoring Anderson, she approached Dr. Cohen. "What is it, Doctor, is it serious?"

  "She'll be all right," Dr. Cohen said. "I've controlled the bleeding. It's probably the result of too much strenuous exercise during her period. I've got the fever and bleeding under control, but she does have an infection. She'll need bed rest for at least a week, maybe two. Don't let her get up. It'll be hard keeping her down, but it could be serious if she's not kept real quiet. I've left the medication and I'll be back to check on her tomorrow."