A Death In The Family (32 page)

“Outdoors.”

“Where, outdoors! I’ve been looking for you all over the place.”

“Just out. Back in the alley.”

“Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

He shook his head.

“I shouted until my voice was hoarse.”

He kept shaking his head. “Honest,” he said.

“Now listen to me carefully. You mustn’t go outdoors today. Stay right here inside this house, do you understand?”

He nodded. He felt suddenly that he had done an awful thing.

“I know it’s hard to,” she said more gently, “but you’ve got to. Help Catherine with her coloring. Read a book. You promise?”

“Yes’m.”

“And don’t do anything to disturb your mother.”

“No’m.”

She went on down the hall and he watched her. What was she doing with the pipes and the ash trays, he wondered. He considered sneaking behind her, for he knew that she could not see at all well, yet he would be sure to get caught, for her hearing was very sharp. All the same, he sneaked along to the back of the hall and watched her empty the ashes into the garbage pail and rap out the pipes against its rim. Then she stood with the pipes in her hand, looking around uncertainly; finally she put the pipes and the ash tray on the cupboard shelf, and set the smoking stand in the corner of the kitchen behind the stove. He went back along the hall on tiptoe and into the sitting room.

Catherine sat in the little chair by the side window with a picture book on her knees. Her crayons were all over the window sill and she was working intently with an orange crayon. She looked up when he came in and looked down again and kept on working.

He did not want to help her, be wanted to be my himself and see if he could find the paper with the names in it, but he felt that he ought to try to be good, for by now he felt a dark uneasiness about something, he was not quite sure what, that he had done. He walked over to her. “I’ll help you,” he said.

“No,” Catherine said, without even looking up. It was the Mother Goose book and with her orange crayon she was scrawling all over the cow which jumped over the moon, inside and outside the lines of the cow.

“Aunt Hannah says to,” he said, disgusted to see what she was doing to the cow.

“No,” Catherine said, and again she did not look up or stop scrawling for a second.

“That ain’t no color for a cow,” he said. “Whoever saw an orange cow?” She made no reply, but he could see that her face was getting red. “Besides, you’re not even coloring inside the cow,” he said. “Just look at that. You’re just running that crayon around all over the place and it isn’t even the right color.” She bore down even harder and harder with the crayon and pushed it in a wider and wider tangle of lines and all of a sudden it snapped and the long part rolled to the floor. “See now, you busted it,” Rufus said.

“Leave me alone!” She tried to draw with the stub of the crayon but it was too short, and the paper got in the way. She looked along the window sill and selected a brown crayon.

“What you goana do with that brown one?” Rufus said. “You already got all that orange all over everything, what you goana do with that brown one?” Catherine took the brown crayon and made a brutal tangle of dark lines all over the orange lines. “Now all you did is just spoil it,” Rufus said. “You don’t know how to draw!”

“
Quit
it!” Catherine yelled, and all of a sudden she was crying. He heard his Aunt Hannah’s sharp voice from the kitchen: “Rufus?”

He was furious with Catherine. “Crybaby,” he whispered with cold hatred: “Tattletale!”

And there was Aunt Hannah at the door, just as mad as a hornet. “Now, what’s the matter? What have you done to her!” She walked straight at him.

It wasn’t fair. How did she know he was doing anything? With a feeling of real righteousness he talked back: “I didn’t do one single thing to her. She was just messing everything up on her picture and I tried to help her like you told me to and all of a sudden she started to cry.”

“What did he do, Catherine?”

“He wouldn’t let me alone.”

“Why good night, I never even touched you and you’re a liar if you say I did!”

All of a sudden he felt himself gripped by the shoulders and shaken and he turned his rattling head from his sister to look into his Aunt Hannah’s freezing glare.

“Now you just listen to me,” she said. “Are you listening?” she sputtered. “
Are you listening
?” she said still more intensely.

“Yes,” he managed to get out, though the word was all shaken up.

“I don’t want to spank you on this day of all days, but if I hear you say one more rough thing like that to your sister I’ll give you a spanking you’ll remember to your dying day, do you hear me?
Do you hear me
?”

“Yes.”

“And if you tease her or make her cry just one more time I’ll—I’ll turn the whole matter over to your Uncle Andrew and we’ll see what
he’ll
do about it. Do you want me to call him? He’s upstairs this minute! Shall I call him?” She stopped shaking him and looked at him. “Shall I?” He shook his head; he was terrified. “All right, but this is my last warning. Do you understand?”

“Yes’m.”

“Now if you can’t play with Catherine in peace like a decent boy just—stay by yourself. Look at some pictures. Read a book. But you be quiet. And good. Do you hear me?”

“Yes’m.”

“Very well.” She stood up and her joints snapped. “Come with me, Catherine,” she said. “Let’s bring your crayons.” And she helped Catherine gather up the crayons and the stubs from the window sill and from the carpet. Catherine’s face was still red but she was not crying any more. As she passed Rufus she gave him a glance filled with satisfaction, and he answered it with a glance of helpless malevolence.

He listened towards upstairs. If his Uncle Andrew had overheard this, there would really be trouble. But there was no evidence that he had. Rufus felt weak in the knees and in the stomach. He went over to the chair beside the fireplace and sat down.

It was mean to pester Catherine like that but he hadn’t wanted to do anything for her anyway. And why did she have to holler like that and bring Aunt Hannah running? He remembered the way her face got red and he knew that he had really been mean to her and he was sorry. But what did she holler for, like a regular crybaby? He would be very careful today, but sooner or later he sure would get back on her. Darn crybaby. Tattletale.

The others really did pay him some attention, though. Anybody here ought to know, it’s him. His daddy got killed. Yeah
you
tell it. Come on and tell us. Just a chance in a million. A million trillion. Never even knowed, knew, what hit him. Shut yer Goddamn mouth. Ain’t you got no sense at all?

Instantly killed.

Concussion, that was it. Concussion of the brain.

Knocked him crazy as a loon, bibblibblebble.

Shut yer Goddam mouth.

But there was something that made him feel wrong.

Ole Tin Lizzie.

What you get for driving a auto when you’re drunk, that’s what my dad says.

Good ole whiskey.

Something he did.

Ole Tin Lizzie just rolled back down on top of him
whomp
.

Didn’t either.

He didn’t say it didn’t. Not clear enough.

Heck, how can that kill anybody?

Did, though. Just a chance in a million. Million trillion.

Instantly killed.

Worse than that, he did.

What.

How would your daddy like it?

He would like me to be with them without them teasing; looking up to me.

How would your daddy like it?

Like what?

Going out in the street like that when he is dead.

Out in the street like what?

Showing off to people because he is dead.

He wants me to get along with them.

So I tell them he is dead and they look up to me, they don’t tease me.

Showing off because he’s dead, that’s all you can show off about. Any other thing they’d tease me and I wouldn’t fight back.

How would your daddy like it?

But he likes me to get along with them. That’s why I—went out—showed off.

He felt so uneasy, deep inside his stomach, that he could not think about it any more. He wished he hadn’t done it. He wished he could go back and not do anything of the kind. He wished his father could know about it and tell him that yes he was bad but it was all right he didn’t mean to be bad. He was glad his father didn’t know because if his father knew he would think even worse of him than ever. But if his father’s soul was around, always, watching over them, then he knew. And that was worst of anything because there was no way to hide from a soul, and no way to talk to it, either. He just knows, and it couldn’t say anything to him, and he couldn’t say anything to it. It couldn’t whip him either, but it could sit and look at him and be ashamed of him.

“I didn’t mean it,” he said aloud. “I didn’t mean to do bad.”

I wanted to show you my cap, he added, silently.

He looked at his father’s morsechair.

Not a mark on his body.

He still looked at the chair. With a sense of deep stealth and secrecy he finally went over and stood beside it. After a few moments, and after listening most intently, to be sure that nobody was near, he smelled of the chair, its deeply hollowed seat, the arms, the back. There was only a cold smell of tobacco and, high along the back, a faint smell of hair. He thought of the ash tray on its weighted strap on the arm; it was empty. He ran his finger inside it; there was only a dim smudge of ash. There was nothing like enough to keep in his pocket or wrap up in a paper. He looked at his finger for a moment and licked it; his tongue tasted of darkness.

Chapter 17

They were told they could eat, that morning, in their nightgowns and wrappers. Their mother still wasn’t there, and Aunt Hannah talked even less than at any meal before. They too were very quiet. They felt that this was an even more special day than day before yesterday. All the noises of their eating and from the street were especially clear, but seemed to come from a distance. They looked steadily at their plates and ate very carefully.

First thing after breakfast Aunt Hannah said, “Now come with me, children,” and they followed her into the bathroom. There she washed their faces and hands and arms, and behind the ears, and their necks, and up each nostril, carefully and gently with soap and warm water; she did not get soap in the eyes of either of them, or hurt their skins with the washcloth. Then she took them into the bedroom and opened the bureaus and took out everything bran clean, from the skin out, and told Rufus to get his clothes on and to ask for help if he wanted it, and started dressing Catherine. Rufus began to see the connection between all this and the bath, the night before. When he had on his underclothes she brought out new black stockings and his Sunday serge. While she was helping Catherine on with her stockings, which were also new but white, the phone rang and she said, “Now sit still and be good. I’ll be straight back,” and hustled from the room. They heard her say, rather loudly and distinctly, up the hall, “I’m getting it, Mary,” then her feet, fast on the stairs. They sat very still, looking at the open door, and tried to hear. They found they could hear quite distinctly, for Hannah spoke to the telephone as she did to her deaf brother and sister-in-law. They heard: “Hello ... Hello ... Yes ...
Father
?”, and when they heard the word “Father” they looked at each other with curiosity and with an uneasy premonition. They heard “Yes ... yes ... yes ... yes ... yes ... yes, Father ... yes ... yes, as well as could be expected ... yes ... yes ... Thank you. I’ll tell her ... yes ... yes ... very well ... yes ... The
Highland
Avenue ... yes ... yes ...
any
... yes ...
any
car to the corner of Church and Gay, then transfer to the Highland—yes—very well ... yes ... Thank you ... we’ll be waiting ... yes ... no ... yes, Father ... yes F— ... good b ... yes, Father ... Thank you ... goo— ... yes ... Thank you ... good-bye ... good-bye.”

They heard her let out a long, tired, angry breath and they could hear her joints snapping as she sprinted up the stairs. They were sitting exactly where she had left them. Rufus thought, Maybe she will say we were good children, but without a word she finished with Catherine’s stockings. She gave Rufus a new white shirt from which he slowly and with fascination drew the pins, running them between his teeth as he watched Aunt Hannah help Catherine into her new dress, which was white, speckled with small dark blue flowers. Catherine stood holding the hem and looking at the skirt and at her white-stockinged feet, which she could see through the skirt. “And now your necktie,” Aunt Hannah said. She took his dark blue tie and made expert motions beneath his chin while alternately he tried to watch her hands and looked into her intent eyes behind their heavy lenses. Her eyes looked stern and sad and exhausted.

Then she cleaned their nails and combed and brushed their hair, and put a clean handkerchief in Rufus’ breast pocket and blacked their shoes. “Now wait a moment,” she said, leaving the room. They heard her rap softly on their mother’s door.

“Mary?” she said.

“Yes,” they heard dimly.

“The children are ready. Shall I bring them in?”

“Yes do, Hannah; thank you.”

“Come in now and see your mother,” she told them from the door.

They followed her in.

“Oh, they look
very nice
;” she exclaimed, in a voice so odd that it seemed to the children that she must be sorry that they did. Yet by her face they could see that she was not sorry. “Hannah, thank you so much, I don’t know what I’d have ...”

But Hannah had left the room and closed the door.

They stood and looked at her with curiosity. Her eyes seemed larger and brighter than usual; her hair was done up as carefully as if she were going to a party. She wore her wrapper and where it opened in front they could see that she had on something dull and black underneath. Her face was like folded gray cloths.

She watched them look at her; they did not move. Her face altered as if a very low light had gone on behind it.