Orphea Proud (13 page)

“Yeah?” She was wearing rollers.

“Is your son around?”

“Do you see him anywhere?”

“No. That’s why I’m asking.”

She stretched her arm across the door, barring my way.

“He isn’t in here, if that’s what you’re wondering. He’s in the root cellar.”

“Where’s that?”

She yawned and shut the door.

I circled the house looking for stairs. A cellar was like a basement. Maybe there was an outside entrance. But I couldn’t find one.

“What’s a root cellar?” I asked Aunt Minnie once I was back in the store.

She had opened a new pack of chewing tobacco and was storing it in a pouch. “A root cellar is just what it sounds like.”

“How does it look?”

“Like a root cellar.”

Aunt Cleo looked up from her sewing. “Come thread me a needle with red thread, Orphea.”

I fished around in her sewing basket and quickly did what she asked.

“You have got the sharpest eye,” she praised me.

“Then how come I can’t find Ray Grimes?”

“Ray? Oh, he’s in the root cellar.”

“But
where
?”

“You sound frustrated.”

“I am. I see him running in the field, then he just vanishes.”

Aunt Cleo chuckled. “It’s over there behind the house somewhere or another. Probably grown over with trees. It’ll be close to the ground. You’ll find it.”

“Take him a root beer,” Aunt Minnie said. “He’ll guzzle that up.”

I rolled my eyes. Root beer would be the perfect gift for someone who spent all his time in a root cellar. I took the can of soda from the refrigerator case, put on my coat, and crossed back over to the mobile home.

It had been freezing cold since I’d come to Proud Road. My breath froze on my face. Now I was holding an ice-cold soda, to boot. I tromped in the snow to the back of the Grimeses’ house. Ray’s tracks from the morning were everywhere.

I walked behind some trees and spotted a light. It seemed to be coming out of the ground! I followed it to a small window hidden behind a fallen bough. A sort of camouflage affair. The window was part of a small stone building half buried in the earth. No wonder I hadn’t been able to find him. I climbed behind the
fallen bough and tried the door. It was locked. But a light was on. So I knew he was in there. I remembered that Lola said he liked candles. Maybe he’d fallen asleep and was about to burn himself up.

“Ray! Are you in there?” I pounded on the door loudly. “Raaay … are you in they-air?” It was embarrassing. I circled round and peeked in the window. He was on the other side of the glass staring at me.

I jumped, almost dropping the root beer. “Brought you something.”

He grinned and disappeared. A second later the door opened up.

I climbed down three small stone steps. Ray grabbed the soda. At first I couldn’t make out what I was seeing, the light inside was so dim. He had a candle perched on a stone in the corner. I squinted, trying to get my eyes adjusted. Then I saw! He was naked except for his underwear! His pale skin was painted all over. He was a walking tattoo.

“What the hell?”

Then I noticed that the walls were painted, too. Not painted a solid color, but painted with pictures. All horses! Phosphorescent horses in yellow, purple, maroon, blue—horses floating and flying and climbing and frothing at the mouth.

“A regular psychedelic rodeo you got here!”

Ray grinned and downed his root beer. “You guessed it.”

“It really is a rodeo?”

He nodded.

“It’s great. You’ve got every wall covered. I’ve never seen a mural this good in my life.”

“That’s what Mama says.”

That’s when I noticed his brushes and pots of paints, scattered every which way.

“Are you some kind of mad genius?”

He looked baffled. “I took off my jeans because it gets hot in here.”

“I didn’t ask about your jeans. I asked if you were a genius.”

“Hell no,” said Ray. “I just got kicked in the head.”

I got down on my knees and peered at the wall. “Mind if I light another candle?”

“I’ll do it,” he said, scrambling to find his pants. He pulled out some matches and lit another stubby candle. He handed me the light. Then he scurried to a corner and climbed into his jeans.

“Don’t let me cramp your style,” I quipped.

“No problem.” When he turned around his face was red, but he didn’t put his shirt on.

“You must have the metabolism of a snake. If you haven’t heard, it’s winter.”

“It’s warm down here, I promise.”

“Kind of like an igloo?”

“I guess.” He motioned to a couple of cushions. “Wanna set down?”

I did. “So, your mother told you who I am?”

“I reckon. Knew you were a Proud by your face.”

I kind of liked that. “I’m Orphea. Thought I’d drop by. Heard you were a painter.”

He tilted the soda can up to his lips. “What else did you hear?”

“That we’re cousins.”

“Yeah. The old ladies told me that Prouds got some Grimes in them. I’m kin to them, too, I expect. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No … how about you?”

“Fine with me. Always wanted more relations. Them rich Grimeses who live down in town don’t want nothing to do with me. I’m glad to have a cousin, hope ’n’ die I am.”

“What’s that? You hope to die?”

“I said
hope ’n’ die
—it’s just an expression.”

“Oh, I get it—as in ‘cross my heart and hope to die’?”

Ray scratched his head.

“Forget it.” I settled back and looked at the paintings. “I think your horses are incredible! They’re so alive. And they’re really weird! I don’t know why horses aren’t purple for real. I think it’s a good idea. Lissa would like them.”

He tossed his straw-colored head. “They aren’t meant to be like real life. I’m not simple, if that’s what you’re thinking. Who’s Lissa, anyway?”

“My friend.”

He gave me the once-over. “So, how come you’ve been spying on me?”

“Me? What about you? Don’t tell me you weren’t doing all that galloping for my benefit.”

His eyes gleamed. “Oh, galloping is just a habit. I did gallop a little fancier because you were watching.”

“I knew it!”

He sat down in the middle of the floor. He dipped a paintbrush into maroon paint. I stared at his back. It was decorated all over with a small crescent design.

“Are those tattoos on your back?”

“No, paint. I did it myself with a piece of sponge. Horseshoes.”

“You sponge-painted your back with horseshoe designs?”

“Glued the sponge to a back scratcher. Looked at my back in the mirror while I was painting.”

“You really do have a horse complex.”

“Horseshoes are good luck,” he snapped. “Don’t know what you mean by complex.”

“You got to admit, it’s odd for a person to gallop around every morning and spend the rest of his time painting his back with horseshoes.”

“Odd for a person to spend all her time staring out the window, too.”

“I don’t spend all my time that way,” I protested.

He gave me a look. “You dropped out of school. Mama thinks you’re sad because you’re pregnant.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“Well, how come you ran away here, then?”

“My brother kicked me out,” I blurted. “But don’t tell my aunts—it’s a secret. And don’t tell your mother.”

He turned back around and began painting a hoof.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yeah. It’s a secret. I understand. Now I have to paint, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure. I’ll just watch.”

I curled up my legs and watched him paint. No wonder he was hot. His arms went fifty miles an hour. He painted over things he’d already done. I heard Lola’s car peel out. Then around four it began to turn dark. Outside the wind was whistling. Ray stopped to light more candles.

“When do you eat supper?” I asked him.

“In a while. Mama leaves something for me on the stove in the house.”

I stood up. “Thanks for letting me stay. I have to go help my aunts.” I opened the small wooden door. “See you out the window.”

“Want to come galloping?”

“I don’t think so. But … can I come back here? I’ll bring you another root beer.”

“How about a cupcake?”

“Are you sure? Those cupcakes at our store are mighty stale.”

“That’s the way I like them.”

“Hey, Ray … you’re funny.”

“Thank ye, thank ye.”

“You’re welcome. Hope ’n’ die.”

I went the next day and the day after that. Watching him paint was like being swallowed by magic.
Then one day I brought my journal. Since I was spending so much time there, I figured I might as well do something. But all I did was bite my pencil. Then I began scribbling a word. The same word over and over.

“What are you writing?”

“Somebody’s name.”

“Lissa’s?”

“How did you guess?”

“I don’t know, I just did. If you miss her so much, why don’t you call her?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t, that’s all.” I fumbled through my journal. I’d tucked a picture of her in the back. “Want to see what she looks like?”

He reached for the photo.

“It’s an old one, from ninth grade. But it still looks pretty much like her.”

He studied the picture for quite a while, then gave it back. “She’s pretty.”

“Her eyes are gray. You might not be able to tell from that.”

“My eyes are gray, too.”

I peered at his face. “I hadn’t noticed. So how come you’re not in school?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Have trouble reading.”

“That’s no reason to drop out.”

“You dropped out on account of your math.”

“Oh … right …”

“That’s a lie, huh?”

“Look, there are some things I can’t talk about. Let me ask the questions.”

“Okay.”

“How did you get kicked in the head?”

“That’s easy. A horse did it.”

“So that’s why you paint horses?”

“It’s only one horse I paint, just all in different colors.”

I looked at the mural. “There is something about the eyes that’s the same.”

Ray nodded. “His name is Saint. He’s scared.”

“How come?”

“He knows he’s going to get shot.”

“Mind explaining?”

His fingers dripped green. He wiped them off with a sponge. He covered his legs with a blanket.

“When I was eight years old, I went to a rodeo with Mama and Jerome. I went off by myself to the corrals, while they were winning me a stuffed animal.

“There was a real powerful horse named Saint. He was a star in the rodeo. He was snorting and pawing the ground like crazy. His leg was tethered. So, I hopped in to help him.”

“You hopped into a corral at a rodeo? No wonder you got kicked in the head!”

“Folks were scared of Saint. But for some reason I wasn’t. When I climbed into the corral, he calmed down. He let me on his back. I was going to ride him.”

“Are you telling the truth or is this some kind of tall tale?”

“I was on his back for just a minute. I whispered in his ear. Then I got off his back and kneeled down next to his foot. He got spooked and kicked me. After that, I went to the hospital. I didn’t wake up for a long time.”

“Man, you could have been killed!”

“I was trying to let him go free. Saint was a good horse.”

“Where is he now?”

“People got upset with Saint. They thought he’d set out to kill me. They said he was crazy and good for nothing, so they shot him. And it wasn’t even his fault.”

“It wasn’t yours either, Ray,” I told him. “You were just trying to help. You were a little kid.”

“He was beautiful. That’s what I whispered in his ear. ‘Saint, you are beautiful.’ ”

“Did your brain get hurt?” I asked quietly. “Was there damage?”

“I expect, though I can’t tell the difference. Anyway, Lola says I missed so much school, I’d never catch up in reading. Since I have a talent at painting, I might as well do that.”

“You are very talented. At least I think so.”

“Would Lissa think so?”

“Yes.”

Ray touched the wall with his brush and painted a blue mane.

One evening, Lola caught me out in the yard. “You’re spending a lot of time with my boy.”