by Mick Foley
The manger still stood in our small front yard. The manger where our substitute Mary had stood, before she fell under the spell of my father’s inexplicable charm.
Then, through the door and on my way up the stairs, which I climbed with great effort, I peered at the gifts, which were still under the tree, except for the one empty space where Holly’s present had been.
“Hey Andy,” my father called up just as I was opening my door.
“Yeah,” I called back.
“We need to talk, I’ll be up in a while.”
A while was an hour. Tietam knocked softly, and I told him, “Come in.” I was sore as hell but dead set on defiance, as I had vowed to not let my dad ever unnerve me again. But my heart was full, and my hopes were high, not for my father, but for the letter from Terri, which would surely be coming.
He came shuffling in, looking not like a monster, but like a small balding man. But when it came to my father, I had learned that looks could deceive.
“What do you want?” I said, feigning disinterest and hoping he bought it. I lay prone on my bed, reading a magazine.
“Well, I’d like to say, ‘Sorry.’ ”
I grew quickly defiant. “Sorry for what, Dad—my shoulder? It’s a little too late. Or for raping our neighbor? Are you sorry for that? Or for my Christmas Eve blow job? Or maybe you thought that was cool? Whatever it is, I don’t want your sorrow.”
“I’m sorry for Terri.”
He had caught me off guard, and I dropped my defenses, and the magazine, too. “Terri?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
“I know about Baskin.”
I struggled for a second to think of what I could say. While I was struggling, Tietam continued.
“I know what happened that night, and I think it’s my fault.”
“Your fault, but how, besides, how could you know.” I looked hard at my father, and saw a true sense of remorse. But I saw something else, some other emotion. But I just couldn’t place it.
“I was there that night, Andy. In the hospital hall, outside your door. I wanted to see you, when I heard what had happened. But I heard your girlfriend inside, and it just tore me up. It tore me all up, because I could have stopped it.”
“Stopped it?” I said. “How, you weren’t there.”
“No, but I knew about his past.”
“What past?” I asked.
“Do you remember New Year’s Eve, when you came back from New York . . . You came home and heard a message, didn’t you? I know you did, because I heard it too, that sweet voice must have broke your heart. Claiming that Baskin kid was a Christian, that he’d turned his life over to the Lord. I knew that it was just a crock about Baskin finding God. But not her words. No, they were the truth. I mean, she wanted to believe.”
I nodded slowly, and I sat up on my bed. I forgot all about my pain, and focused on my father.
“Andy, do you remember Baskin’s mother?”
“Yeah. How could I forget?”
“Do you remember that first night I brought her home?”
I told him I did.
“You know I didn’t think much of it, I thought she’d be just like all the rest. You know, we’d have some fun, I’d do my deck, go back for round two.”
“I know, Dad, I was listening.”
He smiled for just a second, then said, “That’s right, I forgot.”
I smiled too. Damn that Tietam. He had that way about him. Sometimes even now, in spite of everything the thought of Tietam makes me smile.
“Well I go to leave, and she calls me back, tears are running down her face. She says she needs someone to talk to. Talking’s really not my thing, but I did the best I could.
“She says her son is a real bad kid. Says he has no hope. Strangles cats, things like that, says she’s scared of him. Said those steroids made him wild, so he couldn’t control himself. Said he forced himself on his own mom, that he was just too strong to stop.
“The whole thing kind of freaked me out. Which is why I took the shower and came into your room. Remember that night?”
“Yeah, I remember,” I said, thinking of my mother’s picture and the tears on Tietam’s face.
“Andy, I think that lady needs some help, needs to talk to someone who can help her. Instead she wants to talk to me. Like I’m some kind of doctor. That was the night you got the kiss from Terri. Remember?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“You know, if there’s a God, I’ll pay for this, might pay for a lot of things I’ve done. But there she was, drunk as hell, and she’s looking to be held. And instead I—”
“What did you do, Dad?” I blurted out. I really had to know. And despite knowing he was a monster, I felt some sympathy for him.
“I made her call me Clem.”
Oh man. He was right. God would make him pay.
“I may have been a little rough with her. All she wanted was a hug. Then you came home with your eye all swelled, and I went running for the coach. Thinking I would hook him quick; instead, he nearly killed me. I don’t know how I finally stopped him. Some kind of miracle, I thought. When I was driving home, I got to thinking that maybe it was a sign. Maybe I had paid the price for what I did to Mrs. Baskin. So I tried to change my life. Which is why I was so weak, I think, when . . . Holly came around.”
I had made a vow that I wouldn’t cry, but I found it hard to keep. For my eyes filled up when I thought of her, hanging on our tree.
“You know, she was drawing lots of pictures for books for little kids.”
“Yeah, she told me about her art.”
“Then her sister calls her. Says she’s in a lot of debt. Gambling, drugs, things like that.”
I struggled with my tears. Tried not to let them fall.
“Got involved with some bad people. Needed money fast . . . I guess the rest is history.”
I thought of Eddie Edwards. Thought of that verse in Luke. “Could you forgive her?”
Tietam smiled just slightly. A smile of sadness and regret. “Sorry, kid. That’s something I can’t do. Not after seeing her like that.”
Now I was a counselor, a philosopher, a shrink. Thinking of all that I had learned during one monstrous week. Thinking of Holly, thinking of Eddie, thinking once again of Luke. “Dad, nobody’s perfect. We all make mistakes.”
“You’re damn right,” said Tietam. “We all make mistakes. And I made the biggest.” My last words had made him angry, his eyes glared just a bit. I began to speak, but didn’t. I let Tietam finish first. I could see his right arm shaking. I knew I’d touched a nerve.
“Do you know what my mistake was, Andy?”
I decided not to ask.
“It was thinking she was different. But she was just the same. Just like Sugling, just like Baskin, just like Terri.”
“Just like Terri?” I yelled out. I stood up from the bed. The sudden move made my head spin and I almost lost my footing. It was just an instinctual move, I didn’t want to cause a scene. But my instinct was to defend the girl I loved. “Take it back, Dad, take it back!”
My dad was now a different man. I no longer felt his pain. Now I could feel his hatred as he got close to me, almost nose to nose. For a moment I thought he’d hit me, but I didn’t give a damn. Then I remembered Tietam didn’t punch, with one notable exception. Instead he turned his back to me and said words in a whisper. So low I couldn’t make them out, so I asked him to repeat them.
His back stayed turned, and his voice only rose the slightest bit, but this time his voice got through. He said, “I saw her grab your balls.”
He had caught me unprepared. I tried to react in some brave way, but instead I just said, “So?”
Tietam wheeled around and fired his words like bullets, rapidfire and deadly. “So . . . she let you feel her up, right in front of me. So . . . what if she felt up Baskin, let him grab her tits. Listen, kid, that’s carte blanche, he’s got the go-ahead. Some girl feels my nuts, I take her home, that’s just the way it is. Now
maybe ‘No’ means ‘No’ to you, but not to me, and I doubt it did for Baskin. She touches nuts, that pussy’s his, and don’t think that cock-teaser didn’t know it. To cry about it afterward is wrong—he was well within his rights.”
It was as if he’d thrown a knockout punch, for his words had staggered me. Literally. My knees had buckled and I went down, just collapsing on my bed. But the tirade seemed to comfort him, for when he spoke next, he had mellowed.
“Look, Andy, I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve done enough of that already. And I really did like Terri. But she will break your heart. Over and over. Because that’s what women do.”
I tried to catch my breath as he walked away. He looked down at my phonograph and stared at it awhile. Just stood and stared without a sound. A pause that filled the air with greater tension with every passing second. I have thought about the way he chose to break the pause. I’ve thought of it for years. And I have no doubt that in his heart he knew his words would send him past the point of no return. A point from which he knew for sure our relationship was over.
“Nat King Cole.” Three simple words. One special name. “I never did care for that nigger.”
I dared not say a word. Just sat on my bed looking at my old canvas sneakers, wishing they were ruby slippers so I could tap my heels and get the hell out of my room.
“Yeah,” he continued, “never did like him much, reminds me of your mother.”
He picked the record up, examined the scratches, turned it gently in his hands. “Hey look there—Kathy Collins, your mother’s maiden name. Well isn’t that sweet. From mother to son. A gift.” And then, with one flick of his wrist, he shot the record at the wall, inches from my head, where it hit with a smack and shattered.
My heart, which had been so full only one night before, seemed on the verge of breaking once again. I wished for a second that I could snap, force myself to. Just thrust my fist into his mouth. Lodge it there so it couldn’t hurt me anymore. Instead I felt my stomach get weak, I felt my nerves start to fail, and felt my throat start to close, making swallowing difficult.
“Dad,” I cried. “Why?” They were the only words I could get out.
“Why?” my father said, mocking me. “Why? Well I’ll tell you why, Andy, my boy, my only boy. Because it’s about time that you learned about your mother.”
He sat down beside me, put his arm around me. His touch was like ice, the touch of a man whose heart had grown cold. His words, when he spoke, were like lethal darts, sticking in deep, killing me slowly, from the inside on out.
“You think I’m stupid?” he asked. “You must think so, Andy, if you think for a second I don’t know where you’ve been.” My stomach got weaker. “So you gave me a call just to let me know you were okay. Well isn’t that nice. Had to check out the city, huh, isn’t that what you said? Well Andy, do you know how easy it is to check out phone records? I call in a favor, and I find out you were calling from a house owned by an Edwards.”
My heart was now pounding, my voice was dry, my throat continued to tighten, and my brain started to hurt. I didn’t know where he was going, but I knew it wasn’t anywhere good.
“Now Andy, let me ask you, what was a nice white boy like you doing with a dirty nigger like Edwards—what did the two of you have to talk about?”
I looked down at my shoes, afraid to look up, still wishing for a special power to get me out of this room.
“Damn it, boy, I’m talking to you,” he said, grabbing my bad arm with just enough force to make me scream out in pain. Pain I wish I could have just swallowed, but it was too late.
“Hey, did Edwards tell you about the little gift I left, my calling card, fifty-two cards to be exact.”
I didn’t say a word, but he knew nonetheless.
“Funny thing about that nigger, talking about Eddie, not his wife, though I suppose she was one also. Yeah, funny thing is, he’s religious, right, thinks sex is a sin. And he lives in Georgia. Believe it or not, they got laws down there. Laws that make certain acts illegal. But nobody pays attention to the laws, I mean why should they, right, kid? . . . Oh I see, you’re not going to talk. Well that’s fine, just listen. So where was I . . . oh yeah, talking about Edwards. Anyway, Edwards is the only guy who listens, thinks he can’t do stuff ’cause it’s against state law. Ridiculous, right? Now why didn’t he just get his knob polished in Tennessee, is what I’m thinking, right? I mean it’s a two-hour trip. Go see Ruby Falls, maybe check out Chickamauga, then go to a hotel, put that black dick in her mouth.
“Except Edwards won’t do it. He’s too good a Christian, whatever that means. His wife, meanwhile, is dying for it. I can tell. Call it a gift, but I always can tell. So one night in Atlanta, I do a number on this kid from Texas . . . Eddie tell you about that?”
My eyes were still focused on my sneakers, but I nodded my head.
“He did, huh? Wow, you and your nigger must have been best buddies . . . Hey kid, he tell you about the eye? I bet he did, didn’t he?”
Against my better judgment, I nodded again. Tietam Brown whooped with joy. He was enjoying himself.
“So anyway, kid, Eddie, the compassionate Christian, goes to the hospital, and I head for his house. See, I had a chance with the old lady once before, but she wasn’t a doctor then. Was just going to medical school. No real challenge there. But now she’s a doctor, and I get my chance, so I take it. I show up, she’s drunk, but she tries to fight it at first. But I know what she wants. So it doesn’t take long, and she’s fumbling with my trunks. Believe it or not, I’m still wearing my trunks. Balls are all sweaty, but she doesn’t care.
Then he laughed and said, “This is where it gets funny,” and he started slapping my back.
“The funny thing is, Eddie’s wife can’t suck a dick. She doesn’t know how, she’s never done it. The nigger’s all teeth, and it’s starting to hurt, so I . . . I . . . Hey Andy, buddy, you’re not crying, are you?”
I’d kept looking down, but my body gave me away. Sobs that were silent, but sobs all the same.
“Thatta boy,” my father said, his voice thick with false compassion. “You let it out. Just let it all come out.” A pat on the back completed the sham, and his voice changed its tone again. Now he was a teacher.
“Books are great, you know that, son? They can teach you quite a bit. But sometimes books alone do not suffice, they can’t teach you everything. For example, I’ve done quite a bit of reading on the history of Japan. It’s just something that I’m interested in. But during the course of all that research, I never knew that they have a thing for blond girls. Blond singers, more precisely. And I never knew that they hired girls to sing, fly them over on a one-way ticket. Get them there and then let them know that they need to do a little more than just sing for their money. Did you know that?”
I shook my head. My whole body throbbed. My head, my hand, my shoulder, my ribs. It all hurt so bad. But my gut hurt the worst, because I knew in that gut that something was wrong. My father was a lot of things, but a liar was not among them. I knew his next words would be true, and I knew they would hurt.
“So Andy, put yourself in my shoes for a second. Pretend you’re me. Just for a second. Pretend you’re in love for the very first time. Made beautiful love for the very first time. She’s carrying a baby, you sing that child songs. Then one day your wife, who is due in two weeks, she comes into the room crying, says she’s got a small problem. Says she’s not really sure just what’s growing inside her. Who knows, she says, it could be yours, or maybe it’s not. Could be a Jap. A nasty, slant-eyed father-torturing Jap. And Andy, tell me, what would you do?”
I felt for him, I really did. Because I knew his pain was real. He was like a roller coaster, taking my emotions for a ride. Up and down, round and round.
“I’m so sorry,” I said as I wiped at tears. “God, Dad, I’m so sorry.”
Tietam got up from his bed. An evil grin creased his face.
“Hey, don’t. Because I don’t feel s
orry for me. No, Andy Brown, I feel sorry for you.”
“Why?”
“Well it’s really quite simple. I guess what I’m trying to tell you is your mother was a fucking whore!”
He was trying to provoke me. I was pretty sure of that. Trying to see how much I’d take. Maybe trying to see what my “rage” was really like. But the rage was never something I ever could control. It just appeared every several years, and left great suffering in its wake. Usually I suffered most. I did make a move for Tietam, but not one born out of rage. No, in my tiny bedroom amid broken pieces of my life and Nat King Cole, I was just an injured kid defending the honor of his mother, throwing a wild punch at a very dangerous man. A man who specialized in causing pain. He ducked the punch as if it had been thrown in slow motion. From a hand that he caught in the crook of his arm. A hand with fingers that he snapped like pieces of chalk. First the pinkie and the pointer, then the two middle ones. Finally the thumb, which he pulled from its socket with deliberate care.
The pain was just too much to bear, and I felt myself teetering on the thin line of consciousness before losing the bout. But mere seconds had passed when I felt Tietam Brown’s hand slapping my face. Not to cause harm, but to help me come to. Because my father, you see, was not quite through with me yet.
I became vaguely aware that I was prone on the floor, and that my father lay behind me, his limbs seemingly everywhere. Right forearm pressed against my neck, left arm hooked around my right. And his legs were wrapped around my waist in some strange configuration. Firm, but not painful. At least not at first.
He spat out a phony laugh, one of extended exaggeration. “Whoa ho, look at me. After all my lecturing on the big F word, when I finally let it fly, I use it as a fucking adjective. Which we all know that it’s not. Of course not. We all know it’s a verb. As in Clem fucked Terri. Or did Terri fuck Clem? I guess we’ll never know for sure.”
Tietam then arched backward and cinched up on his hold, bringing forth a kind of pain I never knew could exist. Pain so deep and sickening that I couldn’t even scream. Excruciating to such a degree that I felt something leave. My will to live. It was leaving. I was begging God to let me die. Until my father spoke again, and the will came rushing back.
