I almost said, “Father! I’m OK,” but then I saw that he was holding me as much to take care of himself as to take care of me.
I let my father carry me like a doll on his hip. I leaned into his neck and Mother grabbed his waist. It was strange, I was squeezing him but it seemed like I couldn’t feel him. I was so frightened.
When we got to Clarice’s she let Jimmie’s hand go and looked up at me in Father’s arms. At the same time we put up two fingers, touched our cheeks, then put up one finger and put our hands on our chests.
I didn’t notice six or seven of Clarice’s brothers sitting on the porch in a little ball crying until the Malones started for home.
Chapter Sixteen
Back in Lake Myth Again
I couldn’t sleep that night. I just couldn’t ignore the voices coming through the wall from Mother and Father’s bedroom.
They’d started out whispering, but their voices were getting louder.
Mother’s was the loudest. “That’s not true, I heard Mrs. Carsdale say …”
Father said, “What choice do I have? It will be better for all of us in the long run.”
I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping, but the sound of your parents’ voices being so frightened is something you can’t pull away from. And I’d never heard Mother and Father argue before.
“Margaret, what can I do? What can I say to my babies when there’s no work anywhere? Didn’t you tell me that they were even making Old Man Carsdale take a pay cut? And if the white president of a bank is having his pay cut, what chance do I have? Look at me! Look at this mouth, I couldn’t find work when my face was whole. Who’d hire someone with a busted-up, snaggle-tooth mouth? What chance do I have to find enough work to buy even a loaf of bread?”
“Roscoe, listen, no one’s starving here, the welfare food is good enough until—”
Father raised his voice, which was something he usually did only if he was happy.
“Welfare food? How low have we gone that being fed by welfare is normal for us? I heard Jimmie and that Obgurn boy talking the other day and the boy asked Jimmie what kind of cheese was on his sandwich. Jimmie told him, ‘Yellow cheese,’ and the boy said, ‘No, what brand is it?’ Do you know what Jimmie said? He told him, ‘I don’t know, I guess it’s ‘Not to Be Sold’ cheese.’ Peg, it’s gotten so bad that our son thinks that the label they stamp on all the welfare food is a brand name.”
Mother said, “Well, Jimmie is … I don’t know, Jimmie is Jimmie.”
Father said, “Even the welfare food isn’t enough for all of us. I feel as though every bite I take is one less for the rest of you. I might as well reach in your mouths and pull it out.”
“No, Roscoe, no.…”
“And you don’t think I see that you eat next to nothing? You don’t think I notice that?”
Mother snapped, “You’re the one who refuses to eat anything. I told you I get plenty at the Carsdales’.”
Father’s voice got softer. “Peg, haven’t you noticed? Haven’t you looked in the mirror? Sweetheart, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, but, darling, what is this?”
Their room went quiet.
Father said, “Since when did your cheekbones stick out like this? And why do your clothes hang on you now?”
There was a long pause before Mother laughed. “Me? What about you? If your legs get any skinnier we’ll have to use tape to hold your socks up!”
When I heard Father laugh I relaxed a little, but a little too soon.
“Peg, I can’t do it. I’ll find work back in Flint, I know folks there, there’ll be something for me. I can’t blame anyone in Gary for not helping, in tough times people tend to look after their own. I’ll send money, and once I’m settled, I’ll send for you.”
Mother said, “Oh, Roscoe, Roscoe Malone. Do you know how many women and children have heard some version of those words and it turns out to be the last thing they hear from their husbands or fathers? Ever.”
“Peg, you know me. I give you my word.”
“But what if that’s not enough? What if this depression goes on for so long that you can’t find work even in Flint? What good is your word then? Roscoe, we’re at our strongest when we’re all together, when we’re a family. If you leave, how long do you think it’ll be before Jimmie goes? How long before I lose Deza?”
“You’re making it sound like this is something I want to do. Peg, do you have any idea how it rips me apart just to come home every day? Every day I go out and there’s nothing, nothing but a city full of other men no one needs, where the next person is desperate enough to work for less than the last person. I just can’t do it anymore. There have been evenings when I’ve stood at the front door for fifteen, twenty minutes, too ashamed to come in, too ashamed to have nothing in my hands but my hat.”
Mother said, “Why are you taking this so personal? You have nothing to be ashamed of, Roscoe. No one has work, no one has food.”
Father said, “Maybe you’re right, maybe it’s not shame. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe I’m afraid that one day I’ll come in here and see the love and concern on all of your faces, see the way you and the kids work so hard to make me feel better, and I’ll lose my mind. I’ll be so hurt, so angry, so desperate that I’ll go out in the streets and do something horrible. Something to get food or coal or clothes, something that would allow me to feed my family, something that would allow me to feel like a human being and not some animal in a zoo waiting for a handout.
“What kind of world is it when even when I can find work and even when you work forty hours we still can’t afford to have our babies looked after proper?”
“Roscoe, we have to have patience.”
“Patience? Patience? Do you have any idea how it kills me to come in that door and see my boy and know that he’s stopped growing? To know that all we can afford is to take him to Doc Taylor, a man who’s so old and stuck in his ways he probably delivered George Washington?”
“Roscoe, listen—”
“No! Do you know what I automatically do every day when Deza runs up to me to give me a hug and a kiss? Did you know I find myself turning my face or breathing out of my mouth the minute I’m close to her? Do you know why?”
Mother softly said, “Oh, Roscoe, no, don’t say that.…”
I stopped breathing.
Father said, “It’s true, Peg, you don’t want to hear it, I don’t want to say it, but it’s the truth. I’ve found I can’t breathe out of my nose when I’m near Deza because of the smell of her teeth. How sick is that? How pathetic am I that I can’t even breathe normally around my own child?”
Their room was quiet for a full minute.
Tears stung my eyes. I tried to stop listening, but …
Father said, “And I know you, Peg. I know you’re going through the same thing, we both know that that little brown-skinned angel is something beyond special. You know if there’s any chance in the future, it’s riding on her narrow shoulders. So you tell me, you tell me how can I come home empty-handed knowing that that sassy, smart, beautiful, charming little girl … my Mighty Miss Malone … is slowly rotting away on the inside and we can’t afford to have her teeth looked after, we can’t even get them pulled? If I come home and see that the spark that makes Deza so precious is gone, I’ll hate myself.”
Mother said, “Oh, please, Roscoe, stop.…”
Father said, “I don’t know which is worse, the smell of her rotting teeth or the smell of the camphor you get from those white people to soak in cotton and stick in her cavities. I’m at my wits’ end, I … cannot … do … it … one … more … time! Peg, I’ll end up killing someone.”
Mother said, “This isn’t a good time for you to be deciding something this big. Don’t you see, dear, this is the horrible letdown of Joe losing that fight, this is you still grieving about your friends. You need to heal, you need to give it time. All I ask for is another couple months, we’ve come this far together and we need to stay together. Give it some time.�
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I could hear Father jump up. I was surprised that he had his shoes on upstairs this late at night. They thudded over and over as he paced the bedroom.
“Time? What am I supposed to do? Should I tell Jimmie, ‘Son, hold on, we just need a little time before we can get you to a doctor who’ll tell us why you haven’t grown in three years’? And what about Deza? Am I going to tell her, ‘Hold on, darling, in another year or two we’ll get those teeth taken care of. In the meantime just snap the bad ones off at the roots’?”
His pacing stopped.
“Roscoe, stop and listen to yourself. All we need is a little more time and—”
“We don’t have any more time, Peg, we’ve run out.”
Mother’s tone changed. “Oh, so since time’s run out, your answer is for you to run out too?”
There was silence, then, “I’m sorry. I have to go. I’ll write soon’s I get settled. I love you.”
Their bedroom door opened, then shut. I heard nothing from Mother. Father’s shoes slowly clomped down the stairs.
I ran to my bedroom door and watched my father sinking down the staircase. He stopped at Jimmie’s door, tapped twice, then went in.
I slumped down in my doorway and waited for him to come out.
I was surprised that my second brain was keeping so quiet. It’s such a worthless brain. When you don’t want to hear from it, it can’t stop running its mouth. Times like this, when you could use some noise to drown everything out, or when you’d appreciate a little advice about who you should hurt, that no-good brain chooses to be quiet.
I can’t say how long I waited in the doorway.
Jimmie’s door came open and Father looked back into the room. “I love you, son. I’ll send for you. You’ll like Flint. I can’t say how long it’s going to take, but I promise we’ll be back together.”
He closed the door and stopped to lean against the railing. I started crawling into my room. I know Father.
He was coming to see me next.
I wasn’t halfway into the room when I heard Jimmie’s door come open. Father must have turned around and gone back in to tell Jimmie something else.
I slipped back to look down the steps.
It was Jimmie who had opened the door.
He threw himself at Father and wrapped his arms around Father’s waist from behind.
“Daddy, don’t go!” Jimmie cried into Father’s back. “I don’t like school anyway, I can look for work, even when school starts back up, I can help with the bills, just stay!”
Father pulled Jimmie off of his back and the two of them slumped onto the steps.
Jimmie was unconsolable. Father pulled him into his lap.
What broke my heart was that Jimmie, who hated, more than anything, stuff that made him look small or weak or young, didn’t stop Father as he cuddled him like a baby in his arms.
Father kissed Jimmie’s forehead and wiped at his tears.
“Son, son, son.”
“I can do it, Daddy. I’ll have the pie lady paid off in no time. Then I can get a job paying cash. Please, give me a chance. Don’t you remember what you call me?”
Father said, “Of course I do, son. You’re my Genuine, Gentle Jumpin’ Giant, Jimmie.”
“That’s right, and don’t forget about Deza. I bet she’ll work too, even with all that reading and studying she does I’ll bet you she’ll find time to chip in too. With all four of us working we can be good again. Go, ask her, ask her now, she’ll do it, Daddy. You know how she is, you know she’s a champ!”
Father said, “Yes, she is, Jimmie, but I explained it and you promised me, son. I need all of you to look after things while I’m gone. I’m only asking because I know I can count on you.”
Jimmie scooted out of Father’s lap and sat beside him. They wrapped their arms around each other.
“I promised, Father.” Jimmie sniffed. “And I’m just like you, a man of my word. I’ll do everything you asked me to do. We’ll look after each other, Pa. I swear we’ll be all right, I’ll do what I have to. And I won’t tell a soul about what really happened out on—”
Father put his hand across Jimmie’s mouth and stood up.
“Go try to get some sleep, son. I’ve got to say goodbye to Deza.”
Jimmie ran into his room and slammed the door.
As I creeped back to my bed the second brain finally decided to start. “Oh, God, kiddo, don’t let him come say goodbye, just let him leave. If he comes in here I’ll hurt him bad!”
I closed my door, then crawled under my blanket. I pulled the pillow over my head but still could hear the slow clomp-clomp-clomp of Father’s feet coming up the steps. The sound stopped outside my room and the longest time passed before he tapped lightly on my door.
“Deza?”
I pulled the pillow tighter over my head to stop him from seeing me. And to block the smell of my mouth.
“May I come in?”
I would never answer him.
My door opened and I heard a couple of clomps as Father came to me.
He stood at the foot of my bed.
“Sweetheart, you awake?”
No! Go! Go!
“Deza? I need to tell you something.”
I pulled the pillow tighter over my head, held my breath and prayed he’d leave.
Father sighed and said, “I will get us back together, Deza. Please take care of each other. I know it’s hard, but we’ll get this ship righted as soon as we can.”
He walked to the side of my bed and I could feel him lean down.
I kept holding my breath and squeezing the pillow tight on my head.
He put his hand on top of the pillow but didn’t tug it away.
He said, “Remember, Dar Dawt, that kisses … kisses … kisses make you stronger.”
He pressed his face against my pillow three times and clomped to my door and down the steps.
I squeezed the pillow to my head even harder. I could feel the spot where Father had put his wet face. I threw the pillow at the door as hard as I could.
The second brain yelled, “Quick, kiddo! Push him down the steps! He’ll break his leg and then he can’t leave!”
I squeezed my jaws together so hard that little fairies of red-hot light shot out of my back teeth and bounced around inside my skull.
Something crunched and crackled inside my mouth and I got woozy. It worked. The bad brain finally shut up.
I knew I could never hurt my father.
I let out a cry and was surprised to see how much blood sprayed onto my pillowcase.
I heard the front door open and close.
And I was glad to see him go.
Chapter Seventeen
The Road to Crime
The people who run the Gary Public Library are very, very smart.
If you’re looking for a book you don’t have to go through every shelf until you get lucky and find it, all you do is get the book’s Dewey decimal number out of a card catalog and you know right where it’s going to be.
It’s too bad that whoever’s in charge of coming up with superstitious sayings doesn’t work at the Gary Public Library. They could’ve saved me a lot of time and frustration in trying to figure out what a saying really means.
The saying “Bad news always comes in threes” is a good example.
I wonder if the bad news is supposed to come three times to each family, or if it’s going to come to each person in the family three times.
It seems like for the Malones it’s three times for each person.
Nearly a month had gone by and the mailman hadn’t brought anything from Father.
Mother got home from work at about six o’clock and I met her at the door.
She looked tireder than she usually does.
She kissed me and said, “Hello, Deza, any news?”
I told her what me and Clarice were reading and how Dr. Bracy had started paying Jimmie for the work he did for her, but we both knew that the only real news that we all were
waiting for hadn’t happened.
I could tell by her small smile that she already knew.
“Did you make supper, Deza? I’m so hungry I could eat some bugs.”
They weren’t ever going to let me forget the heartbreak I’d suffered with the buggy oatmeal.
When we sat to eat Mother said, “Jimmie, Deza, I’ve been thinking, we haven’t heard anything from your father and to be quite frank, I’m starting to get a little worried.”
This was very disturbing. If she admitted that she was a little worried, it really meant that she was just about in a panic.
We set our forks down.
“So I’ve decided we should go to Flint and get some firsthand information. Your grandmother Malone is there and will know something. I haven’t been able to get ahold of her but I’m sure we can stay with her until we can get on our feet.”
“Get on our feet? Mother, we’ll be back in time for the start of school, won’t we? Mrs. Needham—”
“Deza, I’m terribly sorry, the Carsdales are moving to Europe. They’re starting to close their house down. In two weeks I’ll lose my job. Jimmie, you’ll be coming with me until then, they’ll need help and will pay you.”
She looked at me. “I’m sorry, Deza, but you and Jimmie will go to school in Flint and with me and your father working we’ll do fine.”
I don’t know how long I sat there in shock before I heard Jimmie say, “Ma, I can stay here with Deza, you go find Father and—” He slapped his forehead. “Wait! I can go find Father, you two stay here and—”
“No! We will stay together. I’ve asked Mrs. Carsdale to write me a recommendation letter, she’s good friends with a lady in Flint whose husband is vice president of a bank there.”
She got up and took her plate into the kitchen.
“Well, kiddo,” my second brain said, “you didn’t really believe any of this good stuff with Mrs. Needham was going to happen, did you?”
I didn’t, the only real surprise I had was that my back teeth had gotten so bad that I only had to squeeze them half as much as I usually do to make that stupid second brain shut up.
The Mighty Miss Malone Page 10
