Mammother

by Zachary Schomburg

  Mano exhaled and let a smile grow on his own face, too. “I suppose you’re right.” Something felt different between them, and that made Mano feel a little older and braver. “So, do you like it?” Mano asked. He didn’t usually ask his mother too many questions.

  “Like what?”

  “My haircut?”

  Sisi looked back across her soapy shoulder to get the best view of Mano’s haircut. Mano stood up from the toilet and turned all the way around for her. “No,” she said.

  They both laughed.

  “Why not?”

  “It makes you look like a man.”

  The polka stopped. The radio said, “It’s High Time for a Pie Time.”

  “Tell me, how is The Barber going to steal his mother a pack of Pie Time cigarettes every day, and a cold twelve pack, if all he does is cut hair and sweep it up, cut hair, sweep it up, cut, sweep, cut, sweep, cutsweep, cutsweepcutsweepcutsweep?”

  Mano panicked as his mother kept making the sounds of cutting and sweeping. He put his hands in his pockets, and felt that he had no coins there, and his mother’s only spare pack of Pie Times sat alone on the shelf above the tub. “I’ll buy your beer and cigarettes.”

  “That’s a lot of money, Mano. You don’t have any customers yet.”

  “I’ll get customers.”

  “I bet you’ll get free cuts of meat from The Butcher, too, huh?”

  Mano could feel his mother fishing. “Yes, ma’am. I suppose I will.” Mano asked his mother what she knew with his eyes.

  “A mother knows,” she smiled.

  Mano had no idea how his mother knew anything that happened outside of her bathtub. He suspected that she could smell the truth on him. “Is it ok?”

  “Pepe’s too big for you. You’re too small. He looks like a big man and you look like a tiny girl with a bad haircut.”

  “We’re the same age.” Mano knew that was only near the truth. “I’m getting bigger and bigger every day.”

  “Just don’t fall in love with a hunter.”

  “Pepe’s not a hunter, ma’am. He’s a butcher.”

  “There are many kinds of hunters.”

  10.

  The Baker sat down in the barber’s chair, and Mano spun him around to face the mirror. “My Mary tells me you’re all done with the factory. You’re The Barber now.”

  “You heard right.” It hadn’t occurred to Mano that anything he did was of any interest to Mary or Mimi.

  “My Mary tells me that Enid Pine sure misses you at the factory.” His wink caught Mano off guard. Enid was one of the few girls that Mano liked. Like Mano, she only had a mother in her family, and no one else, and she sometimes helped him steal cigarettes from the factory. And, of course, she was incredibly kind to him on his last day.

  Mano leaned The Baker all the way back in the chair, and rubbed the warm oil onto his face. He soaked a towel in hot water. In his first week of being The Barber, he had learned not to ask what the customer wants, but to always just begin.

  “How is young Enid?” asked Mano.

  “Oh, fine. Fine. She comes by the house now and then to play with Mary. Oh, and Mimi, too. Enid’s mother is a different story, of course.”

  “Nana? Oh, how so?”

  “You know how the world is these days, with God’s Finger going around. She’s very protective of Enid. She always needs to be home at a certain time, that sort of thing.”

  “Oh yeah? That’s too bad. What good is living if...”

  The Baker interrupted with a sigh loud enough to startle Mano. “Nana is afraid of just about everything. She’s afraid of God’s Finger, like the rest of us...”

  Mano tried interrupting in order to point out that he was not, in fact, afraid of God’s Finger. But The Baker kept talking, increasing the volume of his voice.

  “...and she’s afraid Enid will fall in love, just as she did. Love leaves a kind of hole, too. You know?”

  “Yes, yes. I suppose I do know.” Mano wasn’t so sure he knew what The Baker was trying to say. He wrung the hot towel, and twisted it into an oval on top of The Baker’s face.

  “Ask your mother about that.” The Baker’s words were muffled beneath the hot wet towel. Instead, Mano heard The Baker saying something like, “Ask Mothers about that.”

  “I don’t go to church,” confessed Mano.

  The Baker was confused at Mano’s response for a moment. “That’s a real shame. I’d be scared for you. I’d be scared you’re next. God’s Finger can take anyone. Even the priest.”

  “Is that your take on it?” asked Mano.

  “It’s as good a take as any. So, you didn’t hear about Mothers?” The Baker removed the towel from his face, and tossed it onto the counter. “God’s Finger took one of God’s own. Who knows what Mothers was up to. It poked him right there as he was standing on the cross on top of Lady Blood. It poked him while he was building a bigger cross! How much holier can you get than that?”

  “On the cross?” Mano asked, though he needed no clarification.

  “On the cross! God got him right in the chest, knocked him off the cross dead, and ended up hanging there from a nail on his own collar. He had the hole and everything. Nothing was found inside this one though.”

  “A real shame.”

  “If God’s Finger comes to our family, it won’t take Mary. I know that much. Or Mimi. It’ll take me. And I can handle that.”

  “Still, it’s a scary world.” Mano felt for the straight razor in the breast pocket of his apron.

  For a week the barbershop was steadily regaining a healthy business. As customers came in, they would either ask Mano to give their condolences to Inez and Baby Zuzu, or they’d have no idea that the old Barber was dead. Regardless, it became Mano’s job to lighten the inevitably dark mood as he met each of his new customers. He gave everyone the same shave, and the same haircut that he gave himself a week earlier—short and parted on the side, and slicked down with oil. They all seemed satisfied without even really looking at themselves too closely in the mirror.

  He made enough money each day to buy a pack of Pie Time cigarettes and a twelve pack of Pie Time beer for his mother on his way home. And at the close of each work day, Pepe would come by after his long day as The Butcher’s apprentice. He would sit in the chair and spin around. Together, they would laugh at the stories of everyone in town.

  “Keep it, son.” The Baker flipped Mano an extra quarter, and Mano slipped it into his apron pocket. “And please don’t tell Enid I was here. She’ll be jealous, and she won’t stop talking about it all night.”

  Mano didn’t understand. He couldn’t think of when he’d ever talk to Enid again. Still, he smiled at The Baker and thanked him.

  A few minutes later, as Mano dunked his razor and scissors into a jar of hot antiseptic and swept The Baker’s hair into a neat nest on one of the white square tiles, Pepe walked in. Mano’s throat tightened, and he felt his legs go hollow. It was the feeling of his blood rushing into and out of all of his parts all at once. Mano wiped his glasses clean with a white cloth, which was something he did about every half hour.

  “Hey, Mano, I thought of something your barbershop needs.” Pepe bent down and pet the black poodle.

  “Is that so?” Mano stood close enough to Pepe that he could smell the blood on his apron. Looking at this big young man in the doorway of the barbershop was like looking at a reflection of exactly how Mano wanted to appear in the world. He blurred his eyes and saw Pepe’s shiniest parts—his hair and his shoes—and then unblurred his eyes to see the way Pepe’s mouth stopped moving after it said a sentence.

  “Yeah, look.” Pepe pulled a red box from behind his back and handed it to Mano.

  “What is it?”

  “What do you mean ‘what is it’? It’s a radio. Your barbershop needs one, don’t you think?”

  Mano didn’t even know that he needed a radio. He never thought about the possibility of a radio existing outside the one on the back of the toilet in his mo
ther’s bathroom, but now that he was holding a radio of his very own in his hands, he could feel his own need for it. He looked around the barbershop for a place to put it. He tried to hug Pepe to thank him, but he was still holding the radio so he just leaned on him.

  Pepe shooed his thank yous away modestly. “Go on, set it down. You won’t believe it. I found it in the garbage behind Lady Blood. Now, who would throw out a perfectly good radio like this one?”

  “You found it?” asked Mano.

  “Yeah, and that’s the thing. I found it because I heard church music coming from beneath a pile of trash. It wasn’t even plugged in!”

  “What do you mean it wasn’t plugged in?” Mano found the perfect spot for it on the counter behind the spare combs.

  “That’s what I mean. Turn it on. I’ll show you.”

  Mano turned the knob. A priest was saying things. He turned the dial to a different frequency, and another priest was saying similar things. The boys watched the needle moving down the line like a pig looking for the right chute. Another priest, saying other things.

  “How does it do that?”

  “Who knows? But it’s doing it. That’s the most important thing.”

  Mano picked it up and looked at the back of it. He couldn’t even find a cord coming out of it. It was the best present Mano had ever received. He felt like holding it. It made him feel like he took up more space in the room.

  “Thank you, Pepe.”

  “Yeah. Just keep playing with it. You’ll find some polka on there, I bet.” Pepe sat down in the chair, and Mano leaned him all the way back.

  “You’re into polka, huh?” asked Mano.

  “Yeah, have you heard it?”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard it. My mom listens to it sometimes.”

  “I’m going to start my own polka band someday, and play in other towns.”

  Mano turned off the knob on the radio, and grabbed a clean razor from the counter. He slid the razor carefully along Pepe’s bare throat.

  “How was the butcher shop today, Pepe?”

  Pepe laughed. “That tickles.”

  Mano laughed and told Pepe to relax. “You have to hold still, or else I’ll cut your throat.”

  “Don’t kill me! I’m not ready to die!” Pepe joked. He breathed in through his nose and tried to relax. “Ok, try again.”

  “How was the shop today, Mr. Let?” Mano lowered his voice to be funny, and he started shaving Pepe’s jaw with the razor.

  Pepe used a weird voice. “I took things in and out of the freezer. I ground things in the grinder. I took the money. I sharpened the knives. I drained the blood.”

  Mano could smell blood in Pepe’s hair. He moved his comb through it. He swept the hair from his forehead with the comb. He made a clean part. He straightened his collar. He swept more hair from Pepe’s forehead with his fingers.

  11.

  “We are dying.”

  Father Mothers III anxiously cleared his throat in front of what had become his congregation, and started over. “We are dying, one after the other, in pools of our own tainted blood, each morning, because in God’s eyes we’re behaving no differently than mice. We are the mice of the earth. And like mice, we scurry around beneath the feet of our enemies because we are begging to be stepped on. And then, because we have begged for it, all of our days, we are stepped on. We only serve ourselves. We take take take, and we make make make what we touch filthy. Are you a filthy mouse?” The gaze of Mothers fell upon Enid Pine, who happened to be sitting in the front row next to Nana Pine. Enid wasn’t sure if she should answer his question. When she didn’t, Mothers doubled the volume of his voice. “Are you a filthy little mouse?!”

  “No?” Enid said, barely audibly.

  Mothers’ red eyes got bigger, and then he asked the same question again to the whole congregation. No one answered. He asked the question a fourth time, about whether or not you’re a filthy mouse, while looking at The Butcher. “Do you want to die like a filthy mouse? Do you want to die beneath the vengeful and justified foot of the Lord?”

  The Butcher stood up to give his answer. “It’s God’s Finger, Mothers, not his foot!”

  “We’re being poked, not stepped on,” added The Baker.

  “Oh, yes, of course!” Mothers apologized. “Do you want to be poked in the chest like a filthy mouse?” Mothers had been rehearsing his first homily all week in a mirror, but now his mouse metaphor was rapidly falling apart in front of him. He developed a style of speaking through his oversized teeth, with lots of crackles and pops, to hide his subtle lisp. He had a voice that sizzled as it got louder. He cut his hair very short, so it looked like a red velvet sheet cake. His priest’s robe belonged to his father, so it didn’t fit him quite right. It pulled and tugged at his chest and hips as he walked.

  Most of Pie Time’s believers were impressed with the confidence and tenacity of the new Father Mothers. Getting a few things incorrect in the first homily had been expected. They had expected to see the new priest stumble through the entire service. What the people of Pie Time admired most is that, despite his advanced age, Mothers had the energy of a young priest. They were panicked by all the deaths at the hands of God’s Finger, and they needed a priest’s heightened homilies to match their growing anxiety.

  The questions about whether or not anyone was a filthy mouse, or if they wanted to die like one, lingered in the air while Mothers struggled to roll back his tight sleeves.

  “Didn’t your father die from God’s Finger just last week?” shouted The Baker. “My Mary found him on the...”

  Mothers interrupted him. “Ok! And now on to the baptismal ceremonies.”

  Mothers gestured to his new assistant, Lil’ Jorge, just as they had rehearsed. Lil’ Jorge was a very big boy who looked like a teenager on account of all of his fat, but was in fact likely no older than eight. No one really knew Lil’ Jorge’s age under all of his chubbiness, but it was true that he couldn’t count past the number eight, so it was very unlikely that anyone wouldn’t be capable of at least counting up to their own age. So, everyone just assumed that he was eight years old. His arms and legs were big like tree trunks, but they were also short. Lil’ Jorge dragged a plastic pool of milky holy water onto the stage. He waddled as he dragged it.

  Inez Roar, who was wearing a white cotton robe, and holding naked Baby Zuzu, followed Lil’ Jorge and the tub out to the front of the sanctuary. She lowered her lower half into the water, clutching her baby to her chest like a piglet. She was afraid that the slippery baby would squirm from her tight wet grip as Mothers, who was standing just outside the pool, held Inez above the blue plastic rim. The pool was decorated with images of about twenty yellow mermaids swimming around.

  “Mermaids don’t exist,” whispered Lil’ Jorge earnestly to Mothers.

  “Thank you, Lil’ Jorge,” said Mothers as he politely pushed Lil’ Jorge to the side of the ceremony so that everyone could see around his chubbiness. Mothers bent at the knees next to the pool.

  That’s when everyone in the church heard Mano’s horrible scream. It came from somewhere outside the church. Some heads turned to try to stare through the windows that transformed the bright white sky into a blocky color puzzle of Jesus Christ on his knees cleaning someone’s feet, and another blocky color puzzle of a figure that looked like maybe Jesus Christ with a shepherd’s crook. In actuality, it looked more like someone walking on three stilts.

  “What was that?” shouted a concerned June Good.

  “Maybe an injured animal?” asked The Banker.

  “No. No animal can make a noise like that,” said Vera Good.

  “It was a person!” shouted Nana Pine.

  “Who could it have been?”

  Everyone but Pepe looked through the windows in an attempt to deduce whose scream it could have been, but Pepe knew exactly whose scream it was.

  “Let us carry on with the baptism,” pleaded Mothers.

  Everyone shuffled back into their seats and tried to conc
entrate, but even Mothers was distracted. He looked out of the windows as he lowered Inez backwards into the pool. As he considered the scream, he held Inez underwater longer than what was routine, long enough that she got scared and scuffled with his grip on her shoulders. She came up coughing for a breath, and in the scuffle, she let Baby Zuzu slip. The baby drifted down below the cloudy holy water, down between her kicking legs.

  “My baby!”

  Mothers reached all the way into the water from his knees, his head and shoulders beneath the surface as if he was bobbing for apples.

  “My poor baby’s down there!” she screamed.

  His hands were fumbling between Inez’s legs. Everyone forgot about Mano’s scream in that moment, and they focused instead on Inez’s. They stood up to get a better look into the pool. Inez’s arms were high in the air as if she’d somehow find her drowning baby above her.

  The upper torso of the soaked priest finally emerged from the murk, a baby in his clutches, his eyes like a crazed eagle’s. He stood up, gloriously, and held the rescued baby high above his head.

  Remarkably, as is the legend of Baby Zuzu, she was not crying.

  The whole church sighed, and then awwwed. The ones who had yet to stand up, stood up. All of them applauded.

  “I present to you, Zuzu Roar, now a child of God!” Mothers was out of breath. It was his first triumph as the new priest. Inez was still on her knees, crying and holding tight to Mothers’ left leg. She was looking upward, her soaked cotton dress like a thin pink skin hugging her whole body. The congregation clapped wildly, hooted and cheered. They stared at the deepest pink parts of Inez’s body between the backs of her wet thighs. They stared at the dark and fertile valley there, and they stared at her hard brown nipples.

  They kept clapping and cheering.

  Only Pepe wasn’t clapping or cheering. He escaped underneath all of the clapping and cheering.

  “Where are you going?” yelled The Butcher. He broke his gaze on Inez’s wet body, but was still clapping. Pepe was already out of sight.

  Before the last few claps fizzled out, Mothers made his final announcement for the day. Near Lady Blood’s front door, in an open coffin, was the shirtless dead body of his father, Father Mothers II, with a hammer still in his clutches.