Dust Devil (35 page)

What
on earth had ever possessed her to come here? she wondered, still
dazed from the Tom Collinses, still reeling from the night’s
disclosures. She must be mad. The summer heat did that to people. She
remembered Renzo reading a short story to her once, so many years ago
that she could no longer even recall its title or who had written it.
She knew only, vaguely, that it had be in about a man who had dreamed
that on a certain day, he had been murdered by a butcher. Happening
by chance upon the butcher, the stricken man had recounted to him
this tale. The poor butcher had been equally horrified, because he,
too, had suffered a nightmare in which he had seen himself, on that
very same day, a prisoner in chains, standing upon the transport
docks. As a result, the two men had agreed to sit
that
particular day out together, so they could be absolutely certain
nothing untoward would occur. The story had ended with the man
watching the butcher sharpening his knives on the agreed-upon day,
which was hot enough to drive a person mad. Even though the tale had
ended there, Sarah had known the butcher had gone crazy from the heat
and stabbed the man to death.

Now
she thought that if she got out of her Jeep and went up to Renzo’s
loft, she would, like the hapless men in the story, be bringing her
own fate upon herself, that something equally violent and terrible
would happen. If Renzo’s savage, demanding kisses had not
warned her of it before, the saxophone music now was enough to tell
her that, to let her know what kind of a dark, wild, yearning mood he
was in. Yet, instead of driving home after leaving the parking lot at
the Grain Elevator, she had inexplicably come here, to the town
square, as though drawn by some irresistible, magnetic force. Was
this what Renzo had felt last night, when he had stood upon her lawn
in the darkness? She didn’t know, could only guess.

Involuntarily,
Sarah touched her fingertips to her mouth. It still burned from his
kisses. Her body still ached from the emotions and tumult he had
ignited within it. He had wanted her—and she him. She still
wanted him, would only be lying to herself if she chose to believe
otherwise. Was it possible that after all this time, Renzo actually
still loved her? She thought again of all the horrifying,
heartbreaking revelations this night had so unexpectedly offered up,
of the wrong she knew in hindsight that she had done him. She was
tempted, so very tempted to go up to the loft and tell him
everything, the whole sad troth, and fling herself on his mercy, no
matter how rough, how cruel.

Perhaps
that was why she had come here.

But
even now, fear and shame held her back. She had nothing left but her
son, not even the forlorn hope, the impossible dream that Renzo would
someday return and they would become a family.

Tears
brimming once more in her eyes, Sarah started the Jeep and pulled
slowly away from the curb, resolutely shutting her ears against the
music of the weeping saxophone, which echoed in the dark.

On
Monday, when Sarah returned home from work, it was to discover that
Alex sported a black eye and a split lip from yet another fight at
school, which had resulted in him receiving an automatic three-day
suspension, the years having failed miserably to mellow the
authoritative Mr. Dimsdale. Still the principal, he continued to
enforce discipline as vigorously and stringently as he ever had in
Sarah’s day.

“
Do
you want to tell me what happened, Alex?” she asked her son
after she had read the note from his teacher, which had accompanied
him home from school.

“
Well,
what do you think happened?” he rejoined sullenly, fidgeting
with the various condiments that sat on the kitchen table, refusing
to look her in the eye. “Cash Archer and some of the other boys
were hanging around the commons when summer school got out today. And
they started in on me, as usual, calling me a bastard again, that’s
what!”

“
Alex,
we’ve had this conversation several times before,” Sarah
said wearily, feeling as though she should just record their
discussion on tape, so she could play it when needed, “So I
know you’re fully cognizant of the fact that you are
not
to
be fighting on school property—or anywhere else, for that
matter—regardless of what the other children may say or do to
provoke you.”

“
I
know,
I
know.
Sticks and stones may break our bones, but words can never hurt us,”
he droned in a smart-aleck, singsong voice. Then his face abruptly
crumbled, and tears filled his eyes. “But it’s not true,
Mom! Words
do
hurt!
I hate being called a bastard! I hate
being
one!
Even if their parents are divorced, all the other kids at least know
who their fathers are. It isn’t right, it isn’t fair that
I don’t! Why won’t you ever talk to me about him? Why
won’t you at least tell me who he was... is? Or is it really
true what people claim, that you don’t even know your-self? Is
that why my birth certificate says, ‘Father Unknown’ on
it?”

“
How
do you know it says that?” Sarah queried sharply, mortified.

“
Because
when you never would let me see it, I wrote off to the capital for a
copy of it,” Alex confessed, wiping angrily at his eyes,
ashamed of his tears. “I got the address from a book at the
library, and I used six dollars of my allowance to pay the fee.”

“
Even
though I understand why you did it, it still wasn’t a very nice
thing for you to have done, Son,” Sarah insisted gently.
“Especially your going behind my back like that. I kept your
birth certificate from you for a very good reason—because I
knew what it said about your father
would
hurt you. But since you’ve seen fit to pry into this matter
before I felt you were old enough both to discuss and understand it,
I’ll tell you that what you read isn’t true. I
do
know
who your father is. I’ve always known.”

“
Then
why did you say you didn’t on my birth certificate?”

“
Because
I didn’t want everybody else in town knowing, too, that’s
why.”

“
Why?
Is my dad someone really awful, then? Like a— a serial killer
or an armed robber or a—a lunatic? Is he locked up in prison or
a nuthouse or something? A stinking old nursing home, like Grandma?”

“
Good
heavens, no! Of course not. Whatever gave you such bizarre ideas?”

“
Well,
that’s what the kids at school say—and worse, Mom. They
say you went through high school flat on your back until old Dimwit
kicked you out for being pregnant with me. They say you slept with
the entire football team, that you were the team mascot—Randy
Dandy, the Lincoln Lie-on. I just can’t bear it when they say
such terrible things about you, Mom! And if you must know, that’s
why I keep on getting into fights at school and all.”

“
Oh,
Alex, I’m so sorry...so very sorry.” Deeply stricken,
Sarah sat down beside her son at the kitchen table and put her arm
around his shoulders, hugging him close and stroking his tousled
black hair. “I guess I should have realized... But I just never
dreamed people still said all those horrible things behind my back,
or that if they did, you’d hear them.”

“
I
didn’t want to hurt your feelings, Mom. That’s why I
never told you before.”

“
That’s
okay, Alex. I’ve had a long time now to grow accustomed to it,
to learn how to deal with the pain. It doesn’t hurt me at all
the way it used to. I’m just sorry it’s hurt
you.
Because
I wouldn’t ever let that happen, not for anything in the whole
wide world, if I could prevent it. But I can’t. I can tell you,
however, that none of that awful talk you’ve heard is true—not
one single word of it! Your father’s not anybody you’ll
ever have to be ashamed of, Alex. In fact, he’s someone you can
be extremely proud of. I loved him very much, and he was the
only
man
I ever had anything to do with for practically my entire life. And
the only football player I’ve ever even so much as kissed is
Bubba Holbrooke.”

“
You’re
not going to marry big, bad Bubba, are you, Mom?” Alex inquired
sourly, grimacing. “I mean, if you truly want to, I suppose I
could force myself to be nice to him at least. But I don’t
really like him all that much, even if all the other kids
do
think
he’s way cool. He doesn’t know anything about the
classics or comic books or motorcycles. He hates to fish, and he
insulted my saxophone playing once after supper, when you were in the
kitchen, washing up. He said I sounded like a screech owl and ought
to be arrested for disturbing the peace! That wasn’t nice of
him, Mom, was it?”

“
No,
it wasn’t. And no, I don’t think I’m going to marry
Bubba. There are worse fates, I suspect, than winding up an old
maid.”

“
You’re
not old, Mom. And maybe... well, maybe someday you and my dad will
get back together again. Because I think you must still be in love
with him, Mom. That’s what Heather Thurley says, anyway—and
she’s the
smartest
girl in school, even if she
is
kind
of silly about romance and always has her nose stuck is one of those
Sweet Valley High novels. Mom, are you ever going to tell me who my
dad was... is? I mean, he’s not dead or anything like that, is
he? I
am
going
to get to meet him someday, aren’t I?”

“
No,
he’s not dead, and yes, you’re going to get to meet him
someday. Perhaps even sooner than you think and sooner than I ever
intended, actually. And since that’s the case, I probably
should explain some other things to you now, as well, Alex—why
your father hasn’t been a part of your life all these years. I
hope you won’t ever blame him for that, because it’s not
his fault. You see, the truth is that I... Well, I never have told
him about you, Alex. Something tragic happened that caused us to
break up a long time ago, even though I didn’t want to, and
afterward, I was angry and hurt and going through a very difficult
time in my life. My own daddy, your grandfather, had an unexpected
heart attack and died then, too, which was terribly hard, especially
since my mama, your grandmother, blamed me for it and said all the
scandal and strain I had brought upon my family had caused it. It
wasn’t until years later, when I had to put Grandma in the
nursing home, that I learned from one of the doctors there that my
daddy had what was called a ‘balloon heart,’ which nobody
knew how to treat very well back then, so one day, it had just
swollen up and burst. It might have happened at any time. At any
rate, through all that, I felt as though your father had abandoned
me, and at a time when I desperately needed him most, so I wanted to
punish him.”

“
And
that’s why you—why you never told him about me?”

“
Yes,
that’s right.”

“
Well,
that was pretty mean and horrible of you, Mom,” Alex asserted
soberly, his dark brown eyes sad and accusing. “I mean, what if
my dad had stolen me out of the hospital or something after I was
born, so you never even saw me or knew anything about me? How would
you have felt?”

“
Oh,
Son. I’d never have got over it. You’re the light of my
life, the one thing that’s made all the pain and loneliness
bearable all these years. And that’s why I know how hurt your
father’s going to feel when he finds out about you, how angry
he’s going to be with me.”